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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PR6011 

.L5 

MS 

1919 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE 


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THE  MIDDLE 
TEMPLE  MURDER 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/middletemplemurdOOflet_0 


THE 

MIDDLE  TEMPLE 
MURDER 


BY 

J.  S.  FLETCHER 

AUTHOR  OB 

THE  PARADISE  MYSTERY,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GROSSET   &  DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


Made  in  the  United  State*  cf  America 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  Inc. 


Published,  August,  2919 
Second  Printing,  September,  1919 
Third  Printing,  November,  1919 
Fourth  Printing,  November,  1919 
Fifth  Printing,  December,  1919 
Sixth  Printing,  February,  19Z0 
Seventh  Printing,  August,  1920 
Eighth  Printing,  January,  iQ22 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
I 

THE  SCRAP  OF  GREY  PAPER 

PAGE 

9 

II 

HIS  FIRST  BRIEF 

17 

in 

THE  CLUE  OF  THE  CAP 

26 

IV 

THE  ANGLO-ORIENT  HOTEL 

35 

V 

SPARGO  WISHES  TO  SPECIALIZE 

44 

VI 

WITNESS  TO  A  MEETING 

53 

vn 

MR.  AYLMORE 

62 

vni 

THE  MAN  FROM  THE  SAFE  DEPOSIT 

71 

IX 

THE  DEALER  IN  RARE  STAMPS 

80 

X 

THE  LEATHER  BOX 

89 

XI 

MR.  AYLMORE  IS  QUESTIONED 

98 

XII 

THE  NEW  WITNESS 

107 

xin 

UNDER  SUSPICION 

115 

XIV 

THE  SILVER  TICKET 

123 

XV 

MARKET  MIL  CASTER 

132 

XVI 

THE  1 '  YELLOW  DRAGON ' 9 

141 

xvn 

MR.  QUARTERPAGE  HARKS  BACK 

150 

XVIII 

AN  OLD  NEWSPAPER 

159 

XIX 

THE  CHAMBERLAYNE  STORY 

167 

XX 

MAITLAND  alias  MARBURY 

176 

XXI 

ARRESTED 

184 

THE  BLANK  PAST 

193 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

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FORESTALLED 

285 

XXXIV 

THE  WHIP  HAND 

294 

XXXV 

MYERST  EXPLAINS 

302 

XXXVI 

THE  FINAL  TELEGRAM 

311 

THE  MIDDLE 
TEMPLE  MURDER 


CHAPTER  ONE 

THE  SCRAP  OF  GEEY  PAPER 

As  a  rale,  Spargo  left  the  Watchman  office  at  two 
o  'clock.  The  paper  had  then  gone  to  press.  There  was 
nothing  for  him,  recently  promoted  to  a  sub-editorship, 
to  do  after  he  had  passed  the  column  for  which  he  was 
responsible ;  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  could  have  gone  home 
before  the  machines  began  their  clatter.  But  he  gen- 
erally hung  about,  trifling,  until  two  o'clock  came.  On 
this  occasion,  the  morning  of  the  22nd  of  June,  1912, 
he  stopped  longer  than  usual,  chatting  with  Hacket,  who 
had  charge  of  the  foreign  news,  and  who  began  telling 
him  about  a  telegram  which  had  just  come  through  from 
Durazzo.  What  Hacket  had  to  tell  was  interesting: 
Spargo  lingered  to  hear  all  about  it,  and  to  discuss  it. 
Altogether  it  was  well  beyond  half -past  two  when  he  went 
out  of  the  office,  unconsciously  puffing  away  from  him 
as  he  reached  the  threshold  the  last  breath  of  the  at- 
mosphere in  which  he  had  spent  his  midnight.  In  Fleet 
Street  the  air  was  fresh,  almost  to  sweetness,  and  the 
first  grey  of  the  coming  dawn  was  breaking  faintly 
around  the  high  silence  of  St.  Paul's. 

Spargo  lived  in  Bloomsbury,  on  the  west  side  of  Rus- 
sell Square.  Every  night  and  every  morning  he  walked 
to  and  from  the  Watchman  office  by  the  same  route — 
Southampton  Row,  Kingsway,  the  Strand,  Fleet  Street. 
He  came  to  know  several  faces,  especially  amongst  the 

9 


10       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


police ;  he  formed  the  habit  of  exchanging  greetings  with 
various  officers  whom  he  encountered  at  regular  points 
as  he  went  slowly  homewards,  smoking  his  pipe.  And 
on  this  morning,  as  he  drew  near  to  Middle  Temple 
Lane,  he  saw  a  policeman  whom  he  knew,  one  Driscoll, 
standing  at  the  entrance,  looking  about  him.  Further 
away  another  policeman  appeared,  sauntering.  Driscoll 
raised  an  arm  and  signalled;  then,  turning,  he  saw 
Spargo.  He  moved  a  step  or  two  towards  him.  Spargo 
saw  news  in  his  face. 
"What  is  it?"  asked  Spargo. 

Driscoll  jerked  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  towards 
the  partly  open  door  of  the  lane.  Within,  Spargo  saw 
a  man  hastily  donning  a  waistcoat  and  jacket. 

"He  says,"  answered  Driscoll,  "him,  there — the 
porter — that  there's  a  man  lying  in  one  of  them  entries 
down  the  lane,  and  he  thinks  he's  dead.  Likewise,  he 
thinks  he's  murdered." 

Spargo  echoed  the  word. 

"But  what  makes  him  think  that?"  he  asked,  peep- 
ing with   curiosity   beyond   Driscoll 's   burly  form. 

"Why?" 

"He  says  there's  blood  about  him,"  answered  Dris- 
coll. He  turned  and  glanced  at  the  oncoming  constable, 
and  then  turned  again  to  Spargo.  "You're  a  news- 
paper man,  sir?"  he  suggested. 

"I  am,"  replied  Spargo. 

"You'd  better  walk  down  with  us,"  said  Driscoll, 
with  a  grin.  "There'll  be  something  to  write  pieces  in 
the  paper  about.  At  least,  there  may  be."  Spargo 
made  no  answer.    He  continued  to  look  down  the  lane, 


THE  SCRAP  OF  GREY  PAPER 


11 


wondering  what  secret  it  held,  until  the  other  policeman 
came  up.  At  the  same  moment  the  porter,  now  fully 
clothed,  came  out. 

"Come  on!"  he  said  shortly.    "I'll  show  you." 

Driscoll  murmured  a  word  or  two  to  the  newly-arrived 
constable,  and  then  turned  to  the  porter. 

"How  came  you  to  find  him,  then?"  he  asked 

The  porter  jerked  his  head  at  the  door  which  they 
were  leaving. 

"I  heard  that  door  slam,"  he  replied,  irritably,  as  if 
the  fact  which  he  mentioned  caused  him  offence.  "I 
know  I  did !  So  I  got  up  to  look  around.  Then — well, 
I  saw  that!" 

He  raised  a  hand,  pointing  down  the  lane.  The  three 
men  followed  his  outstretched  finger.  And  Spargo  then 
saw  a  man's  foot,  booted,  grey-socked,  protruding  from 
an  entry  on  the  left  hand. 

' ■  Sticking  out  there,  just  as  you  see  it  now, ' '  said  the 
porter.    "I  ain't  touched  it.    And  so  " 

He  paused  and  made  a  grimace  as  if  at  the  memory 
of  some  unpleasant  thing.  Driscoll  nodded  compre- 
hendingly. 

"And  so  you  went  along  and  looked?"  he  suggested. 
"Just  so — just  to  see  who  it  belonged  to,  as  it  might 
be." 

"JTust  to  see — what  there  was  to  see,"  agreed  the 
porter.  "Then  I  saw  there  was  blood.  And  then — 
well,  I  made  up  the  lane  to  tell  one  of  you  chaps." 

"Best  thing  you  could  have  done,"  said  Driscoll. 
"Well,  now  then  " 

The  little  procession  came  to  a  halt  at  iie  entry. 


12       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


The  entry  was  a  cold  and  formal  thing  of  itself;  not 
a  niee  place  to  lie  dead  in,  having  glazed  white  tiles 
for  its  walls  and  concrete  for  its  flooring;  something 
about  its  appearance  in  that  grey  morning  air  suggested 
to  Spargo  the  idea  of  a  mortuary.  And  that  the  man 
whose  foot  projected  over  the  step  was  dead  he  had  no 
doubt :  the  limpness  of  his  pose  certified  to  it. 

For  a  moment  none  of  the  four  men  moved  or  spoke. 
The  two  policemen  unconsciously  stuck  their  thumbs 
in  their  belts  and  made  play  with  their  fingers;  the 
porter  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully — Spargo  remem- 
bered afterwards  the  rasping  sound  of  this  action;  he 
himself  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  began  to  jingle 
his  money  and  his  keys.  Each  man  had  his  own  thoughts 
as  he  contemplated  the  piece  of  human  wreckage  which 
lay  before  him. 

"You'll  notice/ 9  suddenly  observed  Driscoll,  speak- 
ing in  a  hushed  voice,  "You  11  notice  that  he's  lying 
there  in  a  queer  way — same  as  if — as  if  he'd  been  put 
there.  Sort  of  propped  up  against  that  wall,  at  first, 
and  had  slid  down,  like." 

Spargo  was  taking  in  all  the  details  with  a  professional 
eye.  He  saw  at  his  feet  the  body  of  an  elderly  man; 
the  face  was  turned  away  from  him,  crushed  in  against 
the  glaze  of  the  wall,  but  he  judged  the  man  to  be  elderly 
because  of  grey  hair  and  whitening  whisker;  it  was 
clothed  in  a  good,  well-made  suit  of  grey  check  cloth — 
tweed — and  the  boots  were  good:  so,  too,  was  the  linen 
cuff  which  projected  from  the  sleeve  that  hung  so  limply. 
One  leg  was  half  doubled  under  the  body ;  the  other  was 
stretched  straight  out  across  the  threshold;  the  trunk 


THE  SCRAP  OF  GREY  PAPER  13 


was  twisted  to  the  wall.  Over  the  white  glaze  of  the 
tiles  against  which  it  and  the  shoulder  towards  which  it 
had  sunk  were  crushed  there  were  gouts  and  stains  of 
blood.  And  Driscoll,  taking  a  hand  out  of  his  belt, 
pointed  a  finger  at  them. 

"Seems  to  me,"  he  said,  slowly,  i 'seems  to  me  as  how 
he's  been  struck  down  from  behind  as  he  came  out  of 
here.  That  blood's  from  his  nose — gushed  out  as  he 
fell.  What  do  you  say,  Jim?"  The  other  policeman 
coughed. 

"Better  get  the  inspector  here,"  he  said.  "And  the 
doctor  and  the  ambulance.    Dead — ain't  he?" 

Driscoll  bent  down  and  put  a  thumb  on  the  hand 
which  lay  on  the  pavement. 

"As  ever  they  make  'em,"  he  remarked  laconically. 
"And  stiff,  too.    Well,  hurry  up,  Jim!" 

Spargo  waited  until  the  inspector  arrived;  waited 
until  the  hand-ambulance  came.  More  policemen  came 
with  it;  they  moved  the  body  for  transference  to  the 
mortuary,  and  Spargo  then  saw  the  dead  man's  face. 
He  looked  long  and  steadily  at  it  while  the  police  ar- 
ranged the  limbs,  wondering  all  the  time  who  it  was 
that  he  gazed  at,  how  he  came  to  that  end,  what  was  the 
object  of  his  murderer,  and  many  other  things.  There 
was  some  professionalism  in  Spargo  9s  curiosity,  but 
there  was  also  a  natural  dislike  that  a  fellow-being  should 
have  been  so  unceremoniously  smitten  out  of  the  world. 

There  was  nothing  very  remarkable  about  the  dead 
man's  face.  It  was  that  of  a  man  of  apparently  sixty 
to  sixty-five  years  of  age ;  plain,  even  homely  of  feature, 
clean-shaven,  except  for  a  fringe  of  white  whisker, 


14      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


trimmed,  after  an  old-fashioned  pattern,  between  the 
ear  and  the  point  of  the  jaw.  The  only  remarkable 
thing  about  it  was  that  it  was  much  lined  and  seamed ; 
the  wrinkles  were  many  and  deep  around  the  corners  of 
the  lips  and  the  angles  of  the  eyes ;  this  man,  you  would 
have  said  to  yourself,  has  led  a  hard  life  and  weathered 
storm,  mental  as  well  as  physical. 

Driscoll  nudged  Spargo  with  a  turn  of  his  elbow.  He 
gave  him  a  wink.  "Better  come  down  to  the  dead- 
house,"  he  muttered  confidentially. 

"Why?"  asked  Spargo. 

"They'll  go  through  him,"  whispered  Driscoll. 
"Search  him,  d'ye  see?  Then  you'll  get  to  know  all 
about  him,  and  so  on.  Help  to  write  that  piece  in  the 
paper,  eh?" 

Spargo  hesitated.  He  had  had  a  stiff  night's  work, 
and  until  his  encounter  with  Driscoll  he  had  cherished 
warm  anticipation  of  the  meal  which  would  be  laid  out 
for  him  at  his  rooms,  and  of  the  bed  into  which  he 
would  subsequently  tumble.  Besides,  a  telephone  mes- 
sage would  send  a  man  from  the  Watchman  to  the  mor- 
tuary. This  sort  of  thing  was  not  in  his  line  now, 
now — — 

"You'll  be  for  getting  one  o'  them  big  play-cards 
out  with  something  about  a  mystery  on  it,"  suggested 
Driscoll.  "You  never  know  what  lies  at  the  bottom  o' 
these  affairs,  no  more  you  don't." 

That  last  observation  decided  Spargo;  moreover,  the 
old  instinct  for  getting  news  began  to  assert  itself. 

"All  right,"  he  said.    "I'll  go  along  with  you." 

And  re-lighting  his  pipe  he  followed  the  little  cor- 


THE  SCRAP  OF  GREY  PAPER  15 


tege  through  the  streets,  still  deserted  and  quiet,  and  as 
he  walked  behind  he  reflected  on  the  unobtrusive  fashion 
in  which  murder  could  stalk  about.  Here  was  the  work 
of  murder,  no  doubt,  and  it  was  being  quietly  carried 
along  a  principal  London  thoroughfare,  without  fuss  or 
noise,  by  officials  to  whom  the  dealing  with  it  was  all  a 
matter  of  routine.  Surely  

"My  opinion,"  said  a  voice  at  Spargo 's  elbow,  "my 
opinion  is  that  it  was  done  elsewhere.  Not  there !  He 
was  put  there.  That's  what  I  say."  Spargo  turned 
and  saw  that  the  porter  was  at  his  side.  He,  too,  was 
accompanying  the  body. 

"Oh!"  said  Sparge.    "You  think  " 

"I  think  he  was  struck  down  elsewhere  and  carried 
there,"  said  the  porter.  "In  somebody's  chambers, 
maybe.  I've  known  of  some  queer  games  in  our  bit  of 
London!  Well! — he  never  oame  in  at  my  lodge  last 
night — I  '11  stand  to  that  And  who  is  he,  I  should  like 
to  know?  From  what  I  see  of  him,  not  the  sort  to  be 
about  our  place." 

"That's  what  we  shall  hear  presently,"  said  Spargo. 
"They're  going  to  search  him." 

But  Spargo  was  presently  made  aware  that  the  search- 
ers had  found  nothing.  The  police-surgeon  said  that 
the  dead  man  had,  without  doubt,  been  struck  down  from 
behind  by  a  terrible  blow  which  had  fractured  the  skull 
and  caused  death  almost  instantaneously.  In  Driscoll's 
opinion,  the  murder  had  been  committed  for  the  sake 
of  plunder.  For  there  was  nothing  whatever  on  the 
body.  It  was  reasonable  to  suppose  that  a  man  who  is 
well  dressed  would  possess  a  watch  and  chain,  and  hav<* 


16       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


money  in  his  pockets,  and  possibly  rings  on  Ms  fingers. 
But  there  was  nothing  valuable  to  be  found ;  in  fact  there 
was  nothing  at  all  to  be  found  that  could  lead  to  identi- 
fication— no  letters,  no  papers,  nothing.  It  was  plain 
that  whoever  had  struck  the  dead  man  down  had  subse- 
quently stripped  him  of  whatever  was  on  him.  The  only 
clue  to  possible  identity  lay  in  the  fact  that  a  soft  cap 
of  grey  cloth  appeared  to  have  been  newly  purchased  at 
a  fashionable  shop  in  the  West  End. 

Spargo  went  home;  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to 
stop  for.  He  ate  his  food  and  he  went  to  bed,  only  to 
do  poor  things  in  the  way  of  sleepin  \  He  was  not  the 
sort  to  be  impressed  by  horrors,  but  he  recognized  at 
last  that  the  morning's  event  had  destroyed  his  chance 
of  rest;  he  accordingly  rose,  took  a  cold  bath,  drank  a 
cup  of  coffee,  and  went  out.  He  was  not  sure  of  any 
particular  idea  when  he  strolled  away  from  Bloomsbury, 
but  it  did  not  surprise  him  when,  half  an  hour  later  he 
found  that  he  had  walked  down  to  the  police  station  near 
which  the  unknown  man's  body  lay  in  the  mortuary. 
And  there  he  met  Driscoll,  just  going  off  duty.  Dris- 
coll  grinned  at  sight  of  him. 

"You're  in  luck/'  he  said.  "  'Tisn't  five  minutes 
since  they  found  a  bit  of  grey  writing  paper  crumpled 
up  in  the  poor  man's  waistcoat  pocket — it  had  slipped 
into  a  crack.    Come  in,  and  you'll  see  it." 

Spargo  went  into  the  inspector's  office.  In  another 
minute  he  found  himself  staring  at  the  scrap  of  paper. 
There  was  nothing  on  it  but  an  address,  scrawled  in 
pencil: — Ronald  Breton,  Barrister,  King's  Bench  Walk, 
Temple,  London. 


CHAPTER  TWO 


HIS  FIRST  BRIEF 

Spargo  looked  up  at  the  inspector  with  a  quick  jerk 
of  his  head.    "I  know  this  man/'  he  said. 
The  inspector  showed  new  interest. 
1 '  What,  Mr.  Breton  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I'm  on  the  Watchman,  you  know,  sub-editor. 
I  took  an  article  from  him  the  other  day — article  on 
'Ideal  Sites  for  Campers-Out.'  He  came  to  the  office 
about  it.    So  this  was  in  the  dead  man's  pocket?" 

"Found  in  a  hole  in  his  pocket,  I  understand :  I  wasn't 
present  myself.  It's  not  much,  but  it  may  afford  some 
clue  to  identity." 

Spargo  picked  up  the  scrap  of  grey  paper  and  looked 
closely  at  it.  It  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  sort  of  paper 
that  is  found  in  hotels  and  in  clubs;  it  had  been  torn 
roughly  from  the  sheet. 

"What,"  he  asked  meditatively,  "what  will  you  do 
about  getting  this  man  identified?" 

The  inspector  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Oh,  usual  thing,  I  suppose.  There'll  be  publicity, 
you  know.  I  suppose  you'll  be  doing  a  special  account 
yourself,  for  your  paper,  eh?  Then  there'll  be  the 
others.  And  we  shall  put  out  the  usual  notice.  Some- 
body will  come  forward  to  identify — sure  to.    And — " 

17 


18       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


A  man  came  into  the  office — a  stolid-faced,  quiet- 
mannered,  soberly  attired  person,  who  might  have  been 
a  respectable  tradesman  out  for  a  stroll,  and  who  gave 
the  inspector  a  sidelong  nod  as  he  approached  his  desk, 
at  the  same  time  extending  his  hand  towards  the  scrap 
of  paper  which  Spargo  had  just  laid  down. 

"Ill  go  along  to  King's  Bench  Walk  and  see  Mr. 
Breton,"  he  observed,  looking  at  his  watch.  "It's  just 
about  ten — I  daresay  he'll  be  there  now." 

"I'm  going  there,  too,"  remarked  Spargo,  but  as  if 
speaking  to  himself.    "Yes,  I'll  go  there." 

The  newcomer  glanced  at  Spargo,  and  then  at  the 
inspector.    The  inspector  nodded  at  Spargo. 

"Journalist,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Spargo  of  the  Watchman. 
Mr.  Spargo  was  there  when  the  body  was  found.  And 
he  knows  Mr.  Breton."  Then  he  nodded  from  Spargo 
to  the  stolid-faced  person.  "This  is  Detective-Sergeant 
Rathbury,  from  the  Yard,"  he  said  to  Spargo.  "He's 
come  to  take  charge  of  this  case." 

"  Oh  ? "  said  Spargo  blankly.  ' '  I  see— what, 1 9  he  went 
on,  with  sudden  abruptness,  "what  shall  you  do  about 
Breton?" 

"Get  him  to  come  and  look  at  the  body,"  replied 
Rathbury.  "He  may  know  the  man  and  he  mayn't. 
Anyway,  his  name  and  address  are  here,  aren't  they?" 

"Come  along,"  said  Spargo.  "I'll  walk  there  with 
you." 

Spargo  remained  in  a  species  of  brown  study  all  the 
way  along  Tudor  Street  ;  his  companion  also  maintained 
silence  in  a  fashion  which  showed  that  he  was  by  nature 
and  custom  a  man  of  few  words.    It  was  not  until  the 


HIS  FIRST  BRIEF 


19 


two  were  climbing  the  old  balustrated  staircase  of  the 
house  in  King's  Bench  Walk  in  which  Ronald  Breton's 
chambers  were  somewhere  situate  that  Spargo  spoke. 

"Do  you  think  that  old  chap  was  killed  for  what  he 
may  have  had  on  him?"  he  asked,  suddenly  turning  on 
the  detective. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  he  had  on  him  before 
I  answered  that  question,  Mr.  Spargo,"  replied  Rath- 
bury,  with  a  smile. 

1 1  Yes,' '  said  Spargo,  dreamily.  "I  suppose  so.  He 
might  have  had — nothing  on  him,  eh  ? ' ' 

The  detective  laughed,  and  pointed  to  a  board  on 
which  names  were  printed. 

"We  don't  know  anything  yet,  sir/'  he  observed, 
ft  except  that  Mr.  Breton  is  on  the  fourth  floor.  By 
which  I  conclude  that  it  isn't  long  since  he  was  eating 
his  dinner." 

"Oh,  he's  young — he's  quite  young,"  said  Spargo. 
"I  should  say  he's  about  four-and- twenty.  I've  met  him 
only  " 

At  that  moment  the  unmistakable  sounds  of  girlish 
laughter  came  down  the  staircase.  Two  girls  seemed  to 
be  laughing — presently  masculine  laughter  mingled  with 
the  lighter  feminine. 

"Seems  to  be  studying  law  in  very  pleasant  fashion 
up  here,  anyway,"  said  Rathbury.  "Mr.  Breton's 
chambers,  too.    And  the  door's  open." 

The  outer  oak  door  of  Ronald  Breton's  chambers  stood 
thrown  wide;  the  inner  one  was  well  ajar;  through  the 
opening  thus  made  Spargo  and  the  detective  obtained  a 
full  view  of  the  interior  of  Mr.  Ronald  Breton's  rooms. 


20       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


There,  against  a  background  of  law  books,  bundles  of 
papers  tied  up  with  pink  tape,  and  black-framed  pictures 
of  famous  legal  notabilities,  they  saw  a  pretty,  vivacious- 
eyed  girl,  who,  perched  on  a  chair,  wigged  and  gowned, 
and  flourishing  a  mass  of  crisp  paper,  was  haranguing 
an  imaginary  judge  and  jury,  to  the  amusement  of  a 
young  man  who  had  his  back  to  the  door,  and  of  another 
girl  who  leant  confidentially  against  his  shoulder. 

"I  put  it  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury — I  put  it  to 
you  with  confidence,  feeling  that  you  must  be,  must 
necessarily  be,  some,  perhaps  brothers,  perhaps  hus- 
bands, and  fathers,  can  you,  on  your  consciences  do  my 
client  the  great  wrong,  the  irreparable  injury,  the — 
the  " 

"Think  of  some  more  adjectives!"  exclaimed  the 
young  man.  "Hot  and  strong  'uns — pile  'em  up. 
That's  what  they  like— they— Hullo !' ' 

This  exclamation  arose  from  the  fact  that  at  this  point 
of  the  proceedings  the  detective  rapped  at  the  inner 
door,  and  then  put  his  head  round  its  edge.  Where- 
upon the  young  lady  who  was  orating  from  the  chair, 
jumped  hastily  down;  the  other  young  lady  withdrew 
from  the  young  man's  protecting  arm;  there  was  a  fem- 
inine giggle  and  a  feminine  swishing  of  skirts,  and  a 
hasty  bolt  into  an  inner  room,  and  Mr.  Ronald  Breton 
came  forward,  blushing  a  little,  to  greet  the  interrupter. 

"Come  in,  come  in!"  he  exclaimed  hastily.    "I  " 

Then  he  paused,  catching  sight  of  Spargo,  and  held 
out  his  hand  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"Oh— Mr.  Spargo?"  he  said.  "How  do  you  do?— 
we — I — we  were  just  having  a  lark — I'm  off  to  court 


HIS  FIRST  BRIEF 


21 


in  a  few  minutes.  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Spargo  ? 9  9 
He  had  backed  to  the  inner  door  as  he  spoke,  and  he 
now  closed  it  and  turned  again  to  the  two  men,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other.  The  detective,  on  his  part,  was 
looking  at  the  young  barrister.  He  saw  a  tall,  slimly- 
built  youth,  of  handsome  features  and  engaging  pres- 
ence, perfectly  groomed,  and  immaculately  garbed,  and 
having  upon  him  a  general  air  of  well-to-do-ness,  and  he 
formed  the  impression  from  these  matters  that  Mr. 
Breton  was  one  of  those  fortunate  young  men  who  may 
take  up  a  profession  but  are  certainly  not  dependent 
upon  it.    He  turned  and  glanced  at  the  journalist. 

4 'How  do  you  do?"  said  Spargo  slowly.  "I — the  fact 
is,  I  came  here  with  Mr.  Rathbury.  He — wants  to  see 
you.  Detective-Sergeant  Rathbury — of  New  Scotland 
Yard." 

Spargo  pronounced  this  formal  introduction  as  if  he 
were  repeating  a  lesson.  But  he  was  watching  the  young 
barrister's  face.  And  Breton  turned  to  the  detective 
with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"Oh?"  he  said.    "You  wish  " 

Rathbury  had  been  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  the 
scrap  of  grey  paper,  which  he  had  carefully  bestowed  in 
a  much-worn  memorandum-book.  "I  wished  to  ask  a 
question,  Mr.  Breton,"  he  said.  "This  morning,  about 
a  quarter  to  three,  a  man — elderly  man — was  found  dead 
in  Middle  Temple  Lane,  and  there  seems  little  doubt 
that  he  was  murdered.  Mr.  Spargo  here — he  was  pres- 
ent when  the  body  was  found." 

"Soon  after,"  corrected  Spargo.  "A  few  minutes 
after." 


22       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"When  this  body  was  examined  at  the  mortuary, 5 9 
continued  Rathbury,  in  his  matter-of-fact,  business-like 
tones,  "nothing  was  found  that  could  lead  to  identifica- 
tion. The  man  appears  to  have  been  robbed.  There 
was  nothing  whatever  on  him — but  this  bit  of  torn  paper, 
which  was  found  in  a  hole  in  the  lining  of  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  It's  got  your  name  and  address  on  it,  Mr. 
Breton.  See?" 

Ronald  Breton  took  the  scrap  of  paper  and  looked  at 
it  with  knitted  brows. 

"By  Jove!"  he  muttered.  "So  it  has;  that's  queer. 
"What's  he  like,  this  man?" 

Rathbury  glanced  at  a  clock  which  stood  on  the  man- 
telpiece. 

"Will  you  step  round  and  take  a  look  at  him,  Mr. 
Breton  ? "  he  said.    "  It 's  close  by. 9  9 

"Well — I — the  fact  is,  I've  got  a  case  on,  in  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Borrow 's  court,"  Breton  answered,  also  glancing 
at  his  clock.  "But  it  won't  be  called  until  after  eleven. 
Will  " 

"Plenty  of  time,  sir,"  said  Rathbury;  "it  won't  take 
you  ten  minutes  to  go  round  and  back  again — a  look 
will  do.  You  don't  recognize  this  handwriting,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

Breton  still  held  the  scrap  of  paper  in  his  fingers, 
lie  looked  at  it  again,  intently. 

"No!"  he  answered.  "I  don't.  I  don't  know  it  at 
all — I  can't  think,  of  course,  who  this  man  could  be,  to 
have  my  name  and  address.  I  thought  he  might  have 
been  some  country  solicitor,  wanting  my  professional 
services,  you  know,"  he  went  on,  with  a  shy  smile  at 


HIS  FIRST  BRIEF 


23 


Spargo;  "but,  three— three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  eh?" 

4 4 The  doctor,"  observed  Rathbury,  "the  doctor  thinks 
he  had  been  dead  about  two  and  a  half  hours. ' ' 

Breton  turned  to  the  inner  door. 

"I'll — I'll  just  tell  these  ladies  I'm  going  out  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,"  he  said.  "They're  going  over  to 
the  court  with  me — I  got  my  first  brief  yesterday,"  he 
went  on  with  a  boyish  laugh,  glancing  right  and  left  at 
his  visitors.  "It's  nothing  much — small  case — but  I 
promised  my  fiancee  and  her  sister  that  they  should  be 
present,  you  know.    A  moment. ' ' 

He  disappeared  into  the  next  room  and  came  back  a 
moment  later  in  all  the  glory  of  a  new  silk  hat.  Spargo, 
a  young  man  who  was  never  very  particular  about  his 
dress,  began  to  contrast  his  own  attire  with  the  butterfly 
appearance  of  this  youngster;  he  had  been  quick  to  no- 
tice that  the  two  girls  who  had  whisked  into  the  inner 
room  had  been  similarly  garbed  in  fine  raiment,  more 
characteristic  of  Mayfair  than  of  Fleet  Street.  Already 
he  felt  a  strange  curiosity  about  Breton,  and  about  the 
young  ladies  whom  he  heard  talking  behind  the  inner 
door. 

"Well,  eome  on,"  said  Breton.  "Let's  go  straight 
there." 

The  mortuary  to  which  Rathbury  led  the  way  was 
cold,  drab,  repellent  to  the  general  gay  sense  of  the 
summer  morning.  Spargo  shivered  involuntarily  as  he 
entered  it  and  took  a  first  glance  around.  But  the  young 
barrister  showed  no  sign  of  feeling  or  concern ;  he  looked 
quickly  about  him  and  stepped  alertly  to  the  side  of 
the  dead  man,  from  whose  face  the  detective  was  turn- 


24       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


ing  back  a  cloth.  He  looked  steadily  and  earnestly  at 
the  fixed  features.    Then  he  drew  back,  shaking  his  head. 

"No!"  he  said  with  decision.  "Don't  know  him — 
don't  know  him  from  Adam.  Never  set  eyes  on  him  in 
my  life,  that  I  know  of." 

Rathbury  replaced  the  cloth. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  would,"  he  remarked.  "Well, 
I  expect  we  must  go  on  the  usual  lines.  Somebody '11 
identify  him." 

"You  say  he  was  murdered?"  said  Breton.  "Is  that 
— certain?" 

Rathbury  jerked  his  thumb  at  the  corpse. 

"The  back  of  his  skull  is  smashed  in,"  he  said  la- 
conically. "The  doctor  says  he  must  have  been  struck 
down  from  behind — and  a  fearful  blow,  too.  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Breton." 

"Oh,  all  right!"  said  Breton.  "Well,  you  know 
where  to  find  me  if  you  want  me.  I  shall  be  curious 
about  this.    Good-bye — good-bye,  Mr.  Spargo." 

The  young  barrister  hurried  away,  and  Rathbury 
turned  to  the  journalist. 

"I  didn't  expect  anything  from  that,"  he  remarked. 
"However,  it  was  a  thing  to  be  done.  You  are  going 
to  write  about  this  for  your  paper?" 

Spargo  nodded. 

"Well,"  continued  Rathbury,  "I've  sent  a  man  to 
Fiskie's,  the  hatter's,  where  that  cap  came  from,  you 
know.  We  may  get  a  bit  of  information  from  that 
quarter — it's  possible.  If  you  like  to  meet  me  here  at 
twelve  o'clock  I'll  tell  you  anything  I've  heard.  Just 
now  I'm  going  to  get  some  breakfast." 


HIS  FIRST  BRIEF  25 

"I'll  meet  you  here,"  said  Spargo,  /'at  twelve 
o'clock" 

He  watched  Rathbury  go  away  round  one  corner;  he 
himself  suddenly  set  off  round  another.  He  went  to 
the  Watchman  office,  wrote  a  few  lines,  which  he  en- 
closed in  an  envelope  for  the  day-editor,  and  went  out 
again.  Somehow  or  other,  his  feet  led  him  up  Fleet 
Street,  and  before  he  quite  realized  what  he  was  doing 
he  found  himself  turning  into  the  Law  Courts. 


CHAPTER  THREE 


THE  CLUE  OF  THE  CAP 

Having  no  clear  conception  of  what  had  led  him  to 
these  scenes  of  litigation,  Spargo  went  wandering  aim- 
lessly about  in  the  great  hall  and  the  adjacent  corridors 
until  an  official,  who  took  him  to  be  lost,  asked  him  if 
there  was  any  particular  part  of  the  building  he  wanted. 
For  a  moment  Spargo  stared  at  the  man  as  if  he  did  not 
comprehend  his  question.  Then  his  mental  powers  re- 
asserted themselves. 

' '  Isn't  Mr.  Justice  Borrow  sitting  in  one  of  the  courts 
this  morning?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"Number  seven,"  replied  the  official.  "What's  your 
case — when 's  it  down  ? ' ' 

"I  haven't  got  a  case,"  said  Spargo.  "I'm  a  press- 
man— reporter,  you  know." 

The  official  stuck  out  a  finger. 

"Round  the  corner — -first  to  your  right — second  on  the 
left,"  he  said  automatically.  "You'll  find  plenty  of 
room — nothing  much  doing  there  this  morning." 

He  turned  away,  and  Spargo  recommenced  his  appar- 
ently aimless  perambulation  of  the  dreary,  depressing 
corridors. 

"Upon  my  honour!"  he  muttered.   "Upon  my  hon- 

26 


THE  CLUE  OF  THE  CAP  27 


our,  I  really  don't  know  what  I've  come  up  here  for. 
I've  no  business  here." 

Just  then  he  turned  a  corner  and  came  face  to  face 
with  Ronald  Breton.  The  young  barrister  was  now  in 
his  wig  and  gown  and  carried  a  bundle  of  papers  tied  up 
with  pink  tape ;  he  was  escorting  two  young  ladies,  who 
were  laughing  and  chattering  as  they  tripped  along  at 
his  side.  And  Spargo,  glancing  at  them  meditatively, 
instinctively  told  himself  which  of  them  it  was  that  he 
and  Rathbury  had  overheard  as  she  made  her  burlesque 
speech :  it  was  not  the  elder  one,  who  walked  by  Ronald 
Breton  with  something  of  an  air  of  proprietorship,  but 
the  younger,  the  girl  with  the  laughing  eyes  and  the 
vivacious  smile,  and  it  suddenly  dawned  upon  him  that 
somewhere,  deep  within  him,  there  had  been  a  notion,  a 
hope  of  seeing  this  girl  again — why,  he  could  not  then 
think. 

Spargo,  thus  coming  face  to  face  with  these  three, 
mechanically  lifted  his  hat.  Breton  stopped,  half  in- 
quisitive.   His  eyes  seemed  to  ask  a  question. 

"Yes,"  said  Spargo.  "I — the  fact  is,  I  remembered 
that  you  said  you  were  coming  up  here,  and  I  came  after 
you.  I  want — when  you've  time — to  have  a  talk,  to  ask 
you  a  few  questions.  About — this  affair  of  the  dead 
man,  you  know." 

Breton  nodded.   He  tapped  Spargo  on  the  arm. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "When  this  case  of  mine  is 
over,  I  can  give  you  as  much  time  as  you  like.  Can  you 
wait  a  bit  ?  Yes  ?  Well,  I  say,  do  me  a  favour.  I  was 
taking  these  ladies  round  to  the  gallery — round  there, 
and  up  the  stairs — and  I'm  a  bit  pressed  for  time — I've 


28       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


a  solicitor  waiting  for  me.  You  take  them — there's  a 
good  fellow;  then,  when  the  case  is  over,  bring  them 
down  here,  and  you  and  I  will  talk.  Here — 111  intro- 
duce you  all — no  ceremony.  Miss  Aylmore — Miss  Jessie 
Aylmore.  Mr.  Spargo — of  the  Watchman.  Now,  I'm 
off  I"  Breton  turned  on  the  instant;  his  gown  whisked 
round  a  corner,  and  Spargo  found  himself  staring  at  two 
smiling  girls.  He  saw  then  that  both  were  pretty  and 
attractive,  and  that  one  seemed  to  be  the  elder  by  some 
three  or  four  years. 

"That  is  very  cool  of  Ronald,"  observed  the  elder 
young  lady.  "Perhaps  his  scheme  doesn't  fit  in  with 
yours,  Mr.  Spargo?    Pray  don't  " 

"Oh,  it's  all  right!"  said  Spargo,  feeling  himself  un- 
commonly stupid.  "I've  nothing  to  do.  But — where 
did  Mr.  Breton  say  you  wished  to  be  taken  ? ' ' 

"Into  the  gallery  of  number  seven  court,"  said  the 
younger  girl  promptly.  "Round  this  corner — I  think 
I  know  the  way." 

Spargo,  still  marvelling  at  the  rapidity  with  which 
affairs  were  moving  that  morning,  bestirred  himself  to 
act  as  cicerone,  and  presently  led  the  two  young  ladies 
to  the  very  front  of  one  of  those  public  galleries  from 
which  idlers  and  specially-interested  spectators  may  see 
and  hear  the  proceedings  which  obtain  in  the  badly-ven- 
tilated, ill-lighted  tanks  wherein  justice  is  dispensed  at 
the  Law  Courts.  There  was  no  one  else  in  that  gallery ; 
the  attendant  in  the  corridor  outside  seemed  to  be  vastly 
amazed  that  any  one  should  wish  to  enter  it,  and  he 
presently  opened  the  door,  beckoned  to  Spargo,  and  came 
half-way  down  the  stairs  to  meet  him. 


THE  CLUE  OF  THE  CAP  29 


"Nothing  much  going  on  here  this  morning,' 1  he 
whispered  behind  a  raised  hand.  4 4 But  there's  a  nice 
breach  case  in  number  five — get  you  three  good  seats 
there  if  you  like." 

Spargo  declined  this  tempting  offer,  and  went  back 
to  his  charges.  He  had  decided  by  that  time  that  Miss 
Aylmore  was  about  twenty-three,  and  her  sister  about 
eighteen ;  he  also  thought  that  young  Breton  was  a  lucky 
dog  to  be  in  possession  of  such  a  charming  future  wife 
and  an  equally  charming  sister-in-law.  And  he  dropped 
into  a  seat  at  Miss  Jessie  Aylmore 's  side,  and  looked 
around  him  as  if  he  were  much  awed  by  his  surroundings. 

"I  suppose  one  can  talk  until  the  judge  enters?"  he 
whispered.    i  1  Is  this  really  Mr.  Breton's  first  case?" 

"His  very  first — all  on  his  own  responsibility,  any 
way,"  replied  Spargo 's  companion,  smiling.  "And 
he's  very  nervous — and  so's  my  sister.  Aren't  you,  now, 
Evelyn?" 

Evelyn  Aylmore  looked  at  Spargo,  and  smiled 
quietly. 

"I  suppose  one's  always  nervous  about  first  appear- 
ances," she  said.  "However,  I  think  Eonald's  got 
plenty  of  confidence,  and,  as  he  says,  it's  not  much  of  a 
case:  it  isn't  even  a  jury  case.  I'm  afraid  you'll  find 
it  dull,  Mr.  Spargo — it's  only  something  about  a  prom- 
issory note." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,  thank  you,"  replied  Spargo,  un- 
consciously falling  back  on  a  favourite  formula.  "I 
always  like  to  hear  lawyers — they  manage  to  say  such  a 
lot  about — about  " 

"About  nothing,"  said  Jessie  Aylmore.   "But  th^re 


SO       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


— so  do  gentlemen  who  write  for  the  papers,  don't 
they*" 

Spargo  was  about  to  admit  that  there  was  a  good  deal 
to  be  said  on  that  point  when  Miss  Aylmore  suddenly 
drew  her  sister's  attention  to  a  man  who  had  just  en- 
tered the  well  of  the  court. 

4  *  Look,  Jessie  !"  she  observed.  ''There's  Mr.  EL» 
phick!" 

Spargo  looked  down  at  the  person  indicated:  an 
elderly,  large-faced,  smooth-shaven  man,  a  little  inclined 
to  stoutness,  who,  wigged  and  gowned,  was  slowly  mak- 
ing his  way  to  a  corner  seat  just  outside  that  charmed 
inner  sanctum  wherein  only  King's  Counsel  are  per- 
mitted to  sit.  He  dropped  into  this  in  a  fashion  which 
showed  that  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  loved  personal 
comfort;  he  bestowed  his  plump  person  at  the  most  con* 
venient  angle  and  fitting  a  monocle  in  his  right  eye, 
glanced  around  him.  There  were  a  few  of  his  profes- 
sional brethren  in  his  vicinity;  there  were  half  a  dozen 
solicitors  and  their  clerks  in  conversation  with  one  or 
other  of  them ;  there  were  court  officials.  But  the  gentle- 
man of  the  monocle  swept  all  these  with  an  indifferent 
look  and  cast  his  eyes  upward  until  he  caught  sight  of 
the  two  girls.  Thereupon  he  made  a  most  gracious  bow 
in  their  direction;  his  broad  face  beamed  in  a  genial 
smile,  and  he  waved  a  white  hand. 

1 ' Do  you  know  Mr.  Elphick,  Mr.  Spargo?"  enquired 
the  younger  Miss  Aylmore. 

"I  rather  think  I've  seen  him,  somewhere  about  the 
Temple, 9 9  answered  Spargo.    ' '  In  fact,  I 'm  sure  I  have. '  * 

4 4 His  chambers  are  in  Paper  Buildings,"  said  Jessie. 


THE  CLUE  OF  THE  CAP  31 


11  Sometimes  lie  gives  tea-parties  in  them.  He  is  Ron- 
ald's guardian,  and  preceptor,  and  mentor,  and  all  that, 
and  I  suppose  he's  dropped  into  this  court  to  hear  how 
his  pupil  goes  on." 

"Here  is  Ronald,"  whispered  Miss  Aylmore. 

"And  here,"  said  her  sister,  "is  his  lordship,  looking 
very  cross.   Now,  Mr.  Spargo,  you're  in  for  it." 

Spargo,  to  tell  the  truth,  paid  little  attention  to  what 
went  on  beneath  him.  The  case  which  young  Breton 
presently  opened  was  a  commercial  one,  involving  cer- 
tain rights  and  properties  in  a  promissory  note;  it 
seemed  to  the  journalist  that  Breton  dealt  with  it  very 
well,  showing  himself  master  of  the  financial  details,  and 
speaking  with  readiness  and  assurance.  He  was  much 
more  interested  in  his  companions,  and  especially  in  the 
younger  one,  and  he  was  meditating  on  how  he  could  im- 
prove his  further  acquaintance  when  he  awoke  to  the 
fact  that  the  defence,  realizing  that  it  stood  no  chance, 
had  agreed  to  withdraw,  and  that  Mr.  Justice  Borrow 
was  already  giving  judgment  in  Ronald  Breton's  favour. 
In  another  minute  he  was  walking  out  of  the  gallery  in 
rear  of  the  two  sisters. 

"Very  good — very  good,  indeed,"  he  said,  absent- 
mindedly.  "I  thought  he  put  his  facts  very  clearly 
and  concisely." 

Downstairs,  in  the  corridor,  Ronald  Breton  was  talk- 
ing to  Mr.  Elphick.  He  pointed  a  finger  at  Spargo  as 
the  latter  came  up  with  the  girls :  Spargo  gathered  that 
Breton  was  speaking  of  the  murder  and  of  his,  Spargo 's, 
connection  with  it.  And  directly  they  approached,  he 
spoke. 


S2       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"This  is  Mr.  Spargo,  sub-editor  of  the  Watchman," 
Breton  said.  "Mr.  Elphick — Mr.  Spargo.  I  was  just 
telling  Mr.  Elphick,  Spargo,  that  you  saw  this  poor  man 
soon  after  he  was  found/' 

Spargo,  glancing  at  Mr.  Elphick,  saw  that  he  was 
deeply  interested.  The  elderly  barrister  took  him — 
literally — by  the  button-hole. 

"My  dear  sir!"  he  said.  "You — saw  this  poor  fel- 
low? Lying  dead — in  the  third  entry  down  Middle 
Temple  Lane?    The  third  entry,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Spargo,  simply.  "I  saw  him.  It  was 
the  third  entry. 1 1 

"Singular!"  said  Mr.  Elphick,  musingly.  "I  know 
a  man  who  lives  in  that  house.  In  fact,  I  visited  him  last 
night,  and  did  not  leave  until  nearly  midnight.  And 
this  unfortunate  man  had  Mr.  Ronald  Breton's  name 
and  address  in  his  pocket?" 

Spargo  nodded.  He  looked  at  Breton,  and  pulled  out 
his  watch.  Just  then  he  had  no  idea  of  playing  the  part 
of  informant  to  Mr.  Elphick. 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  he  answered  shortly.  Then,  looking 
at  Breton  significantly,  he  added,  "If  you  can  give  me 
those  few  minutes,  now  ?" 

i  1  Yes — yes ! ' '  responded  Ronald  Breton,  nodding. 
"I  understand.  Evelyn — I'll  leave  you  and  Jessie  to 
Mr.  Elphick:  I  must  go." 

Mr.  Elphick  seized  Spargo  once  more. 

"My  dear  sir!"  he  said,  eagerly.  "Do  you— do  you 
think  I  could  possibly  see — the  body?" 

"It's  at  the  mortuary,"  answered  Spargo.  "I  don't 
know  what  their  regulations  are." 


THE  CLUE  OF  THE  CAP  33 


Then  he  escaped  with  Breton.  They  had  crossed  Fleet 
Street  and  were  in  the  quieter  shades  of  the  Temple  be- 
fore Spargo  spoke. 

' ' About  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you/'  he  said  at  last. 
"It  was — this.  I — well,  I've  always  wanted,  as  a  jour- 
nalist, to  have  a  real  big  murder  case.  I  think  this  is  one. 
I  want  to  go  right  into  it — thoroughly,  first  and  last. 
And — I  think  you  can  help  me/' 

"How  do  you  know  that  it  is  a  murder  case?"  asked 
Breton  quietly. 

"It's  a  murder  case,"  answered  Spargo,  stolidly. 
"I  feel  it.  Instinct,  perhaps.  I'm  going  to  ferret  out 
the  truth.    And  it  seems  to  me  " 

He  paused  and  gave  his  companion  a  sharp  glance. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  presently  continued,  4 'that  the 
clue  lies  in  that  scrap  of  paper.  That  paper  and  that 
man  are  connecting  links  between  you  and — somebody 
else." 

1 'Possibly,"  agreed  Breton.  "You  want  to  find  the 
somebody  else?" 

"I  want  you  to  help  me  to  find  the  somebody  else," 
answered  Spargo.  "I  believe  this  is  a  big,  very  big  af- 
fair: I  want  to  do  it.  I  don't  believe  in  police  methods 
— much.  By  the  by,  I'm  just  going  to  meet  Eathbury. 
He  may  have  heard  of  something.  "Would  you  like  to 
come?" 

Breton  ran  into  his  chambers  in  King's  Bench  Walk, 
left  his  gown  and  wig,  and  walked  round  with  Spargo  to 
the  police  office.  Eathbury  came  out  as  they  were  step- 
ping in. 

"Oh!"  he  said.    "Ah! — I've  got  what  may  be  help- 


34       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


ful,  Mr.  Spargo.  I  told  you  I'd  sent  a  man  to  Fiskie's, 
the  hatter?  Well,  he's  just  returned.  The  cap  which 
the  dead  man  was  wearing  was  bought  at  Fiskie's  yester- 
day afternoon,  and  it  was  sent  to  Mr.  Marbury,  Room  20, 
at  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel." 

" Where  is  that?"  asked  Spargo. 

' 'Waterloo  district,"  answered  Rathbury.  "A  small 
house,  I  believe.  Well,  I'm  going  there.  Are  you  com- 
ing?" 

"Yes,"   replied   Spargo.   "Of   course.   And   Mr.  - 
Breton  wants  to  come,  too." 
"If  I'm  not  in  the  way,"  said  Breton. 
Rathbury  laughed. 

"Well,  we  may  find  out  something  about  this  scrap  of 
paper, 9  9  he  observed.  And  he  waved  a  signal  to  the  near- 
est taxi-cab  driver. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 


THE  ANGLO-ORIENT  HOTEL 

The  house  at  which  Spar  go  and  his  companions  pres- 
ently drew  up  was  an  old-fashioned  place  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  of  Waterloo  Railway  Station — a  plain- 
fronted,  four-square  erection,  essentially  mid-Victorian 
in  appearance,  and  suggestive,  somehow,  of  the  very  early 
days  of  railway  travelling.  Anything  more  in  contrast 
with  the  modern  ideas  of  a  hotel  it  would  have  been  dif- 
ficult to  find  in  London,  and  Ronald  Breton  said  so  as 
he  and  the  others  crossed  the  pavement. 

"And  yet  a  good  many  people  used  to  favour  this 
place  on  their  way  to  and  from  Southampton  in  the  old 
days,"  remarked  Rathbury.  "And  I  daresay  that  old 
travellers,  coming  back  from  the  East  after  a  good  many 
years'  absence,  still  rush  in  here.  You  see,  it's  close  to 
the  station,  and  travellers  have  a  knack  of  walking  into 
the  nearest  place  when  they've  a  few  thousand  miles  of 
steamboat  and  railway  train  behind  them.  Look  there, 
now?" 

They  had  crossed  the  threshold  as  the  detective  spoke, 
and  as  they  entered  a  square,  heavily-furnished  hall,  he 
made  a  sidelong  motion  of  his  head  towards  a  bar  on  the 
left,  wherein  stood  or  lounged  a  number  of  men  who 
from  their  general  appearance,  their  slouched  hats,  and 

35 


36       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


their  bronzed  faces  appeared  to  be  Colonials,  or  at  any 
rate  to  have  spent  a  good  part  of  their  time  beneath 
Oriental  skies.  There  was  a  murmur  of  tongues  that 
had  a  Colonial  accent  in  it;  an  aroma  of  tobacco  that 
suggested  Sumatra  and  Trichinopoly,  and  Rathbury 
wagged  his  head  sagely.  ' 6  Lay  you  anything  the  dead 
man  was  a  Colonial,  Mr.  Spargo,"  he  remarked.  "Well, 
now,  I  suppose  that's  the  landlord  and  landlady.' 9 

There  was  an  office  facing  them,  at  the  rear  of  the  hall, 
and  a  man  and  woman  were  regarding  them  from  a  box 
window  which  opened  above  a  ledge  on  which  lay  a 
register  book.  They  were  middle-aged  folk:  the  man, 
a  fleshy,  round-faced,  somewhat  pompous-looking  in- 
dividual, who  might  at  some  time  have  been  a  butler; 
the  woman  a  tall,  spare-figured,  thin-featured,  sharp- 
eyed  person,  who  examined  the  newcomers  with  an  en- 
quiring gaze.  Rathbury  went  up  to  them  with  easy  con- 
fidence. 

"You  the  landlord  of  this  house,  sir?"  he  asked. 
"Mr.  Walters?  Just  so — and  Mrs.  Walters,  I  pre- 
sume?" 

The  landlord  made  a  stiff  bow  and  looked  sharply  at 
his  questioner. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?"  he  enquired. 

"A  little  matter  of  business,  Mr.  Walters,"  replied 
Rathbury,  pulling  out  a  card.  "You'll  see  there  who 
I  am — Detective-Sergeant  Rathbury,  of  the  Yard.  This 
is  Mr.  Frank  Spargo,  a  newspaper  man;  this  is  Mr. 
Ronald  Breton,  a  barrister." 

The  landlady,  hearing  their  names  and  description, 
pointed  to  a  side  door,  and  signed  Rathbury  and  his 


THE  ANGLO-ORIENT  HOTEL  37 


companions  to  pass  through.  Obeying  her  pointed 
finger,  they  found  themselves  in  a  small  private  parlour. 
Walters  closed  the  two  doors  which  led  into  it  and  looked 
at  his  principal  visitor. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Rathbury?"  he  enquired.  "Any- 
thing wrong?" 

"We  want  a  bit  of  information, ' 9  answered  Rathbury, 
almost  with  indifference. 

"  Did  anybody  of  the  name  of  Marbury  put  up  here 
yesterday — elderly  man,  grey  hair,  fresh  complexion  V 9 

Mrs.  Walters  started,  glancing  at  her  husband. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  knew  some  enquiry 
would  be  made.  Yes — a  Mr.  Marbury  took  a  room  here 
yesterday  morning,  just  after  the  noon  train  got  in  from 
Southampton.  Number  20  he  took.  But — he  didn't 
use  it  last  night.  He  went  out — very  late — and  he  never 
came  back." 

Rathbury  nodded.  Answering  a  sign  from  the  land- 
lord, he  took  a  chair  and,  sitting  down,  looked  at  Mrs. 
Walters. 

"What  made  you  think  some  enquiry  would  be  made, 
ma'am?"  he  asked.    "Had  you  noticed  anything?" 

Mrs.  Walters  seemed  a  little  confused  by  this  direct 
question.    Her  husband  gave  vent  to  a  species  of  growl. 

"Nothing  to  notice,"  he  muttered.  "Her  way  of 
speaking — that's  all." 

"Well — why  I  said  that  was  this,"  said  the  landlady. 
"He  happened  to  tell  us,  did  Mr.  Marbury,  that  he 
hadn't  been  in  London  for  over  twenty  years,  and 
couldn't  remember  anything  about  it,  him,  he  said,  never 
having  known  much  about  London  at  any  time.  And, 


38       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


of  course,  when  he  went  out  so  late  and  never  came  back, 
why,  naturally,  I  thought  something  had  happened  to 
him,  and  that  there 'd  be  enquiries  made." 

' 6 Just  so — just  so!"  said  Rathbury.  "So  you  would, 
ma'am — so  you  would.  Well,  something  has  happened 
to  him.  He's  dead.  What's  more,  there's  strong  rea- 
son to  think  he  was  murdered." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walters  received  this  announcement 
with  proper  surprise  and  horror,  and  the  landlord  sug- 
gested a  little  refreshment  to  his  visitors.  Spargo  and 
Breton  declined,  on  the  ground  that  they  had  work  to  do 
during  the  afternoon;  Rathbury  accepted  it,  evidently 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

"My  respects,"  he  said,  lifting  his  glass.  6 6 Well, 
now,  perhaps  you'll  just  tell  me  what  you  know  of  this 
man?  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walters, 
that  he  was  found  dead  in  Middle  Temple  Lane  this 
morning,  at  a  quarter  to  three;  that  there  wasn't  any- 
thing on  him  but  his  clothes  and  a  scrap  of  paper  which 
bore  this  gentleman's  name  and  address;  that  this  gentle- 
man knows  nothing  whatever  of  him,  and  that  I  traced 
him  here  because  he  bought  a  cap  at  a  West  End  hat- 
ter's yesterday,  and  had  it  sent  to  your  hotel." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Walters  quickly,  "that's  so.  And 
he  went  out  in  that  cap  last  night.  Well — we  don't 
know  much  about  him.  As  I  said,  he  came  in  here  about 
a  quarter  past  twelve  yesterday  morning,  and  booked 
Number  20.  He  had  a  porter  with  him  that  brought  a 
trunk  and  a  bag — they're  in  20  now,  of  course.  He  told 
me  that  he  had  stayed  at  this  house  over  twenty  years 
ago,  on  his  way  to  Australia — that,  of  course,  was  long 


THE  ANGLO-ORIENT  HOTEL  39 


before  we  took  it.  And  he  signed  his  name  in  the  book 
as  John  Marbury." 

"We'll  look  at  that,  if  you  please,"  said  Eathbury. 

Walters  fetched  in  the  register  and  turned  the  leaf  to 
the  previous  day's  entries.  They  all  bent  over  the  dead 
man's  writing. 

"  'John  Marbury,  Coolumbidgee,  New  South  Wales,'  " 
said  Eathbury.  "Ah — now  I  was  wondering  if  that 
writing  would  be  the  same  as  that  on  the  scrap  of  paper, 
Mr.  Breton.    But,  you  see,  it  isn't — it's  quite  different." 

"Quite  different,"  said  Breton.  He,  too,  was  regard- 
ing the  handwriting  with  great  interest.  And  Eath- 
bury noticed  his  keen  inspection  of  it,  and  asked  another 
question. 

"Ever  seen  that  writing  before?"  he  suggested. 

"Never,"  answered  Breton.  "And  yet — there's 
something  very  familiar  about  it. ' ' 

"Then  the  probability  is  that  you  have  seen  it  before," 
remarked  Eathbury.  "Well — now  we'll  hear  a  little 
more  about  Marbury 's  doings  here.  Just  tell  me  all 
you  know,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walters." 

"My  wife  knows  most,"  said  Walters.  "I  scarcely 
saw  the  man — I  don't  remember  speaking  with  him." 

"No, ' '  said  Mrs.  Walters.  ' 6  You  didn 't — you  weren 't 
much  in  his  way.  Well,"  she  continued,  "I  showed  him 
up  to  his  room.  He  talked  a  bit — said  he'd  just  landed 
at  Southampton  from  Melbourne." 

"Did  he  mention  his  ship?"  asked  Eathbury.  "But 
if  he  didn't,  it  doesn't  matter,  for  we  can  find  out." 

"I  believe  the  name's  on  his  things,"  answered  the 
landlady.   "There  are  some  labels  of  that  sort.  Well, 


40      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


he  asked  for  a  chop  to  be  cooked  for  him  at  once,  as  he 
was  going  out.  He  had  his  chop,  and  he  went  Out  at 
exactly  one  o'clock,  saying  to  me  that  he  expected  he'd 
get  lost,  as  he  didn't  know  London  well  at  any  time,  and 
shouldn't  know  it  at  all  now.  He  went  outside  there —  ' 
I  saw  him — looked  about  him  and  walked  off  towards 
Blackfriars  way.  During  the  afternoon  the  cap  you 
spoke  of  came  for  him — from  Fiskie's.  So,  of  course, 
I  judged  he'd  been  Piccadilly  way.  But  he  himself 
never  came  in  until  ten  o'clock.  And  then  he  brought  a 
gentleman  with  him." 

"Aye?"  said  Rathbury.    "A  gentleman,  now?  Did 
you  see  him?" 

"Just,"  replied  the  landlady.  "They  went  straight  ' 
lip  to  20,  and  I  just  caught  a  mere  glimpse  of  the  gentle- 
man as  they  turned  up  the  stairs.  A  tall,  well-built 
gentleman,  with  a  grey  beard,  very  well  dressed  as  far 
as  I  could  see,  with  a  top  hat  and  a  white  silk  muffler 
round  his  throat,  and  carrying  an  umbrella." 

"And  they  went  to  Marbury's  room?"  said  Rathbury. 
"What  then?" 

"Well,  then,  Mr.  Marbury  rang  for  some  whiskey  and 
soda,"  continued  Mrs.  Walters.  "He  was  particular  to 
have  a  decanter  of  whiskey:  that,  and  a  syphon  of  soda 
were  taken  up  there.  I  heard  nothing  more  until  nearly 
midnight;  then  the  hall-porter  told  me  that  the  gentle- 
man in  20  had  gone  out,  and  had  asked  him  if  there  was 
a  night-porter— as,  of  course,  there  is.  He  went  out  at 
half -past  eleven." 

"And  the  other  gentleman?"  asked  Rathbury. 


THE  ANGLO-ORIENT  HOTEL  41 


"The  other  gentleman, 9 9  answered  the  landlady, 
"went  out  with  him.  The  hall-porter  said  they  turned 
towards  the  station.  And  that  was  the  last  anybody 
in  this  house  saw  of  Mr.  Marbury.  He  certainly  never 
came  back." 

"That,"  observed  Eathbury  with  a  quiet  smile,  "that 
is  quite  certain,  ma'am?  Well — I  suppose  we'd  better 
see  this  Number  20  room,  and  have  a  look  at  what  he  left 
there." 

* ' Everything, "  said  Mrs.  Walters,  "is  just  as  he  left 
it.    Nothing's  been  touched." 

It  seemed  to  two  of  the  visitors  that  there  was  little  to 
touch.  On  the  dressing-table  lay  a  few  ordinary  articles 
of  toilet — none  of  them  of  any  quality  or  value :  the  dead 
man  had  evidently  been  satisfied  with  the  plain  necessi- 
ties of  life.  An  overcoat  hung  from  a  peg:  Rathbury, 
without  ceremony,  went  through  its  pockets ;  just  as  un- 
ceremoniously he  proceeded  to  examine  trunk  and  bag, 
and  finding  both  unlocked,  he  laid  out  on  the  bed  every 
article  they  contained  and  examined  each  separately  and 
carefully.  And  he  found  nothing  whereby  he  could 
gather  any  clue  to  the  dead  owner's  identity. 

4 'There  you  are!"  he  said,  making  an  end  of  his  task. 
"You  see,  it  's  just  the  same  with  these  things  as  with 
the  clothes  he  had  on  him.  There  are  no  papers — 
there's  nothing  to  tell  who  he  was,  what  he  was  after, 
where  he'd  come  from — though  that  we  may  find  out  in 
other  ways.  But  it's  not  often  that  a  man  travels  with- 
out some  clue  to  his  identity.  Beyond  the  fact  that 
some  of  this  linen  was,  you  see,  bought  in  Melbourne,  we 


m       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


know  nothing  of  him.  Yet  he  must  have  had  papers  and 
money  on  him.  Did  you  see  anything  of  his  money,  now, 
ma'am?"  he  asked,  suddenly  turning  to  Mrs.  "Walters. 
"Did  he  pull  out  his  purse  in  your  presence,  now?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  landlady,  with  promptitude. 
"He  came  into  the  bar  for  a  drink  after  he'd  been  up 
to  his  room.  He  pulled  out  a  handful  of  gold  when  he 
paid  for  it — a  whole  handful.  There  must  have  been 
some  thirty  to  forty  sovereigns  and  half-sovereigns." 

"And  he  hadn't  a  penny  piece  on  him — when  found," 
muttered  Rathbury. 

"I  noticed  another  thing,  too,"  remarked  the  land-  , 
lady.    "He  was  wearing  a  very  fine  gold  watch  and 
chain,  and  had  a  splendid  ring  on  his  left  hand — little 
finger — gold,  with  a  big  diamond  in  it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  detective,  thoughtfully,  "I  noticed 
that  he'd  worn  a  ring,  and  that  it  had  been  a  bit  tight 
for  him.  "Well — now  there's  only  one  thing  to  ask  about. 
Did  your  chambermaid  notice  if  he  left  any  torn  paper 
around — tore  any  letters  up,  or  anything  like  that?" 

But  the  chambermaid,  produced,  had  not  noticed  any- 
thing of  the  sort;  on  the  contrary,  the  gentleman  of 
Number  20  had  left  his  room  very  tidy  indeed.  So 
Rathbury  intimated  that  he  had  no  more  to  ask,  and 
nothing  further  to  say,  just  then,  and  he  bade  the  land- 
lord and  landlady  of  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel  good  morn- 
ing, and  went  away,  followed  by  the  two  young  men. 

"What  next?"  asked  Spargo,  as  they  gained  the 
street. 

"The  next  thing,"  answered  Rathbury,  "is  to  find 
the  man  with  whom  Marbury  left  this  hotel  last  night/' 


THE  ANGLO-ORIENT  HOTEL  43 


"And  how's  that  to  be  done?"  asked  Spargo. 
"At  present/'  replied  Rathbury,  "I  don't  know." 
And  with  a  careless  nod,  he  walked  off,  apparently  de- 
sirous of  being  alone0 


CHAPTER  FIVE 


SPARGO  WISHES  TO  SPECIALIZE 

The  barrister  and  the  journalist,  left  thus  uncere- 
moniously on  a  crowded  pavement,  looked  at  each  other. 
Breton  laughed. 

"We  don't  seem  to  have  gained  much  information, " 
he  remarked.    "I'm  about  as  wise  as  ever." 

"No — wiser,"  said  Spargo.  "At  any  rate,  I  am.  I 
know  now  that  this  dead  man  called  himself  John  Mar- 
bury  ;  that  he  came  from  Australia ;  that  he  only  landed 
at  Southampton  yesterday  morning,  and  that  he  was  in 
the  company  last  night  of  a  man  whom  we  have  had  de- 
scribed to  us — a  tall,  grey-bearded,  well-dressed  man, 
presumably  a  gentleman. ' ' 

Breton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  should  say  that  description  would  fit  a  hundred 
thousand  men  in  London, ' '  he  remarked. 

" Exactly — so  it  would,"  answered  Spargo.  "But  we 
know  that  it  was  one  of  the  hundred  thousand,  or  half- 
million,  if  you  like.  The  thing  is  to  find  that  one — the 
one." 

"And  you  think  you  can  do  it?" 

"I  think  I'm  going  to  have  a  big  try  at  it." 

Breton  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

44 


SPARGO  WISHES  TO  SPECIALIZE  45 


6  '  What? — by  going  up  to  every  man  who  answers  the 
description,  and  saying  'Sir,  are  you  the  man  who  ac- 
companied John  Marbury  to  the  Agio  " 

Spar  go  suddenly  interrupted  him. 

"Look  here!"  he  said.  "Didn't  you  say  that  you 
knew  a  man  who  lives  in  that  block  in  the  entry  of  which 
Marbury  was  found?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  answered  Breton.  "It  was  Mr. 
Elphick  who  said  that.  All  the  same,  I  do  know  that 
man— he's  Mr.  Cardlestone,  another  barrister.  He  and 
Mr.  Elphick  are  friends — they're  both  enthusiastic 
philatelists — stamp  collectors,  you  know — and  I  dare 
say  Mr.  Elphick  was  round  there  last  night  examining 
something  new  Cardlestone 's  got  hold  of.  Why?" 

"I'd  like  to  go  round  there  and  make  some  enquiries," 
replied  Spargo.    "If  you'd  be  kind  enough  to  " 

"Oh,  I'll  go  with  you!"  responded  Breton,  with 
alacrity.  "I'm  just  as  keen  about  this  business  as  you 
are,  Spargo!  I  want  to  know  who  this  man  Marbury 
is,  and  how  he  came  to  have  my  name  and  address  on 
him.  Now,  if  I  had  been  a  well-known  man  in  my  pro- 
fession, you  know,  why — " 

"Yes,"  said  Spargo,  as  they  got  into  a  cab,  "yes,  that 
would  have  explained  a  lot.  It  seems  to  me  that  well 
get  at  the  murderer  through  that  scrap  of  paper  a  lot 
quicker  than  through  Eathbury's  line.  Yes,  that's  what 
I  think." 

Breton  looked  at  his  companion  with  interest. 
"But — you  don't  know  what  Eathbury's  line  is,"  he 
remarked. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Spargo.   "Eathbury's  gone  off  to 


46       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


discover  who  the  man  is  with  whom  Marbury  left  the 
Anglo-Orient  Hotel  last  night.    That's  his  line." 
"And  you  want  ?" 

"I  want  to  find  out  the  full  significance  of  that  bit  of 
paper,  and  who  wrote  it,"  answered  Spargo.  "I  want 
to  know  why  that  old  man  was  coming  to  you  when  he 
was  murdered." 

Breton  started. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed.    "I — I  never  thought  of, 
that.    You — you  really  think  he  was  coming  to  me  when 
he  was  struck  down  ? ' ' 

"Certain.  Hadn't  he  got  an  address  in  the  Temple? 
Wasn't  he  in  the  Temple?  Of  course,  he  was  trying  to 
find  you." 

"But— the  late  hour?" 

"No  matter.  How  else  can  you  explain  his  presence 
in  the  Temple?  I  think  he  was  asking  his  way.  That's 
why  I  want  to  make  some  enquiries  in  this  block." 

It  appeared  to  Spargo  that  a  considerable  number  of 
people,  chiefly  of  the  office-boy  variety,  were  desirous 
of  making  enquiries  about  the  dead  man.  Being 
luncheon-hour,  that  bit  of  Middle  Temple  Lane  where 
the  body  was  found,  was  thick  with  the  inquisitive  and 
the  sensation-seeker,  for  the  news  of  the  murder  had 
spread,  and  though  there  was  nothing  to  see  but  the  bare 
stones  on  which  the  body  had  lain,  there  were  more  open 
mouths  and  staring  eyes  around  the  entry  than  Spargo 
had  seen  for  many  a  day.  And  the  nuisance  had  be- 
come so  great  that  the  occupants  of  the  adjacent  cham- 
bers had  sent  for  a  policeman  to  move  the  curious  away, 
and  when  Spargo  and  his  companion  presented  them- 


SPARGO  WISHES  TO  SPECIALIZE  ¥1 

selves  at  the  entry  this  policeman  was  being  lectured  as 
to  his  duties  by  a  little  weazen-faced  gentleman,  in  very 
snuffy  and  old-fashioned  garments,  and  an  ancient  silk 
hat,  who  was  obviously  greatly  exercised  by  the  un- 
wonted commotion. 

" Drive  them  all  out  into  the  street!"  exclaimed  this 
personage.  "  Drive  them  all  away,  constable — into 
Fleet  Street  or  upon  the  Embankment — anywhere,  so 
long  as  you  rid  this  place  of  them.  This  is  a  disgrace, 
and  an  inconvenience,  a  nuisance,  a  " 

"That's  old  Cardlestone, "  whispered  Breton.  "He's 
always  irascible,  and  I  don't  suppose  we'll  get  anything 
out  of  him.  Mr.  Cardlestone,"  he  continued,  making 
his  way  up  to  the  old  gentleman  who  was  now  retreating 
up  the  stone  steps,  brandishing  an  umbrella  as  ancient 
as  himself.  "I  was  just  coming  to  see  you,  sir.  This  is 
Mr.  Spargo,  a  journalist,  who  is  much  interested  in  this 
murder.    He  " 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  murder,  my  dear  sir!"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Cardlestone.  "And  I  never  talk  to  journal- 
ists— a  pack  of  busybodies,  sir,  saving  your  presence.  I 
am  not  aware  that  any  murder  has  been  committed,  and 
I  object  to  my  doorway  being  filled  by  a  pack  of  office 
boys  and  street  loungers.  Murder  indeed!  I  suppose 
the  man  fell  down  these  steps  and  broke  his  neck — drunk, 
most  likely." 

He  opened  his  outer  door  as  he  spoke,  and  Breton, 
with  a  reassuring  smile  and  a  nod  at  Spargo,  followed 
him  into  his  chambers  on  the  first  landing,  motioning  the 
journalist  to  keep  at  their  heels. 

"Mr.  Elphick  tells  me  that  he  was  with  you  until  a 


48      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


late  hour  last  evening',  Mr.  Cardlestone, "  he  said.  "Of 
course,  neither  of  you  heard  anything  suspicious?" 

"What  should  we  hear  that  was  suspicious  in  the 
Temple,  sir?"  demanded  Mr.  Cardlestone,  angrily. 
"I  hope  the  Temple  is  free  from  that  sort  of  thing,  young 
Mr.  Breton.  Your  respected  guardian  and  myself  had 
a  quiet  evening  on  our  usual  peaceful  pursuits,  and 
when  he  went  away  all  was  as  quiet  as  the  grave,  sir. 
What  may  have  gone  on  in  the  chambers  above  and 
around  me  I  know  not!  Fortunately,  our  walls  are 
thick,  sir — substantial.  I  say,  sir,  the  man  probably  fell 
down  and  broke  his  neck.  What  he  was  doing  here,  I 
do  not  presume  to  say." 

"Well,  it's  guess,  you  know,  Mr.  Cardlestone,"  re- 
marked Breton,  again  winking  at  Spargo.  "But  all 
that  was  found  on  this  man  was  a  scrap  of  paper  on 
which  my  name  and  address  were  written.  That's  prac- 
tically all  that  was  known  of  him,  except  that  he'd  just 
arrived  from  Australia." 

Mr.  Cardlestone  suddenly  turned  on  the  young  bar- 
rister with  a  sharp,  acute  glance. 

"Eh?"  he  exclaimed.  "What's  this?  You  say  this 
man  had  your  name  and  address  on  him,  young  Breton ! 
■ — yours?    And  that  he  came  from — Australia?" 

"That's  so,"  answered  Breton.  "That's  all  that's 
known." 

Mr.  Cardlestone  put  aside  his  umbrella,  produced  a 
bandanna  handkerchief  of  strong  colours,  and  blew  his 
nose  in  a  reflective  fashion. 

"That's  a  mysterious  thing,"  he  observed.  "Um — - 
does  Elphick  know  all  that?" 


SPARGO  WISHES  TO  SPECIALIZE  49 


Breton  looked  at  Spargo  as  if  he  was  asking  him  for  an 
explanation  of  Mr.  Cardlestone 's  altered  manner.  And 
Spargo  took  up  the  conversation. 

"No,"  he  said.  "All  that  Mr.  Elphick  knows  is  that 
Mr.  Konald  Breton's  name  and  address  were  on  the  scrap 
of  paper  found  on  the  body.  Mr.  Elphick" — here 
Spargo  paused  and  looked  at  Breton — "Mr.  Elphick," 
he  presently  continued,  slowly  transferring  his  glance 
to  the  old  barrister,  "spoke  of  going  to  view  the  *' 
body." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cardlestone,  eagerly.    "It  can 
be  seen  ?    Then  1 11  go  and  see  it.   Where  is  it  ? " 
Breton  started. 

"But— my  dear  sir!"  he  said.  "Why?" 

Mr.  Cardlestone  picked  up  his  umbrella  again. 

"I  feel  a  proper  curiosity  about  a  mystery  which  oc- 
curs at  my  very  door,"  he  said.  "Also,  I  have  known 
more  than  one  man  who  went  to  Australia.  This  might 
— I  say  might,  young  gentlemen — might  be  a  man  I  had 
once  known.    Show  me  where  this  body  is." 

Breton  looked  helplessly  at  Spargo :  it  was  plain  that 
he  did  not  understand  the  turn  that  things  were  taking. 
But  Spargo  was  quick  to  seize  an  opportunity.  In  an- 
other minute  he  was  conducting  Mr.  Cardlestone  through 
the  ins  and  outs  of  the  Temple  towards  Blackfriars. 
And  as  they  turned  into  Tudor  Street  they  encountered 
Mr.  Elphick. 

"I  am  going  to  the  mortuary,"  he  remarked.  "So, 
I  suppose,  are  you,  Cardlestone?  Has  anything  more 
been  discovered,  young  man?" 

Spargo  tried  a  chance  shot — at  what  he  did  not  know. 


50       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"The  man's  name  was  Marbury,"  he  said.  "He  was 
from  Australia." 

He  was  keeping  a  keen  eye  on  Mr.  Elphiek,  but  he 
failed  to  see  that  Mr.  Elphiek  showed  any  of  the  sur- 
prise which  Mr.  Cardlestone  had  exhibited.  Rather,  he 
seemed  indifferent. 

"Oh?"  he  said— "Marbury?  And  from  Australia. 
Well — I  should  like  to  see  the  body. ' ' 

Spargo  and  Breton  had  to  wait  outside  the  mortuary 
while  the  two  elder  gentlemen  went  in.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  learnt  from  either  when  they  reappeared. 

"We  don't  know  the  man,"  said  Mr.  Elphiek,  calmly. 
"As  Mr.  Cardlestone,  I  understand,  has  said  to  you  al- 
ready— we  have  known  men  who  went  to  Australia,  and 
as  this  man  was  evidently  wandering  about  the  Temple, 
we  thought  it  might  have  been  one  of  them,  come  back. 
But — we  don't  recognize  him." 

"Couldn't  recognize  him,"  said  Mr.  Cardlestone. 
"No!" 

They  went  away  together  arm  in  arm,  and  Breton 
looked  at  Spargo. 

"As  if  anybody  on  earth  ever  fancied  they'd  recog- 
nize him!"  he  said.  "Well — what  are  you  going  to  do 
now,  Spargo?    I  must  go." 

Spargo,  who  had  been  digging  his  walking-stick  into 
a  crack  in  the  pavement,  came  out  of  a  fit  of  abstraction. 

"  I  ? "  he  said.  1 1  Oh— I 'm  going  to  the  office. ' '  And 
he  turned  abruptly  away,  and  walking  straight  off  to 
the  editorial  rooms  at  the  Watchman,  made  for  one  in 
which  sat  the  official  guardian  of  the  editor.  "Try  to 
get  me  a  few  minutes  with  the  chief,"  he  said. 


SPARGO  WISHES  TO  SPECIALIZE  51 


The  private  secretary  looked  up. 

M Really  important?'7  he  asked. 

"Big!"  answered  Spargo.    "Fix  it." 

Once  closeted  with  the  great  man,  whose  idiosyncrasies 
he  knew  pretty  well  by  that  time,  Spargo  lost  no  time. 

"You've  heard  about  this  murder  in  Middle  Temple 
Lane?"  he  suggested. 

' 6  The  mere  facts, ' '  replied  the  editor,  tersely. 

"I  was  there  when  the  body  was  found,"  continued 
Spargo,  and  gave  a  brief  resume  of  his  doings.  "I'm 
certain  this  is  a  most  unusual  affair,"  he  went  on.  "It's 
as  full  of  mystery  as — as  it  could  be.  I  want  to  give  my 
attention  to  it.  I  want  to  specialize  on  it.  I  can  make 
siMih  a  story  of  it  as  we  haven 't  had  for  some  time — ages. 
Let  me  have  it.  And  to  start  with,  let  me  have  two 
columns  for  tomorrow  morning.    I'll  make  it — big !" 

The  editor  looked  across  his  desk  at  Spargo 's  eager 
fece. 

"Your  other  work?"  he  said. 

"Well  in  hand,"  replied  Spargo.  "I'm  ahead  a 
whole  week — both  articles  and  reviews.  I  can  tackle 
both." 

The  editor  put  his  finger  tips  together. 
"Have  you  got  some  idea  about  this,  young  man?" 
he  asked. 

"I've  got  a  great  idea,"  answered  Spargo.  He  faced 
the  great  man  squarely,  and  stared  at  him  until  he  had 
brought  a  smile  to  the  editorial  face.  "That's  why  I 
want  to  do  it,"  he  added.  "And — it's  not  mere  boast- 
ing nor  over-confidence — I  know  I  shall  do  it  better  than 
, anybody  else." 


52       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


The  editor  considered  matters  for  a  brief  moment. 
"You  mean  to  find  out  who  killed  this  man?"  he  said 
at  last. 

Spargo  nodded  his  head — twice. 

"I'll  find  that  out,"  he  said  doggedly. 

The  editor  picked  up  a  pencil,  and  bent  to  his  desk. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Go  ahead.  You  shall  have 
your  two  columns. ' ' 

Spargo  went  quietly  away  to  his  own  nook  and  corner. 
He  got  hold  of  a  block  of  paper  and  began  to  write. 
He  was  going  to  show  how  to  do  things. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

WITNESS  TO  A  MEETING 

B>anaM  Breton  walked  into  the  Watchman  office  and 
into  Spargo 's  room  next  morning  holding  a  copy  of  the 
current  issue  in  his  hand.  He  waved  it  at  Spargo  with 
an  enthusiasm  which  was  almost  boyish. 

"I  say!"  he  exclaimed.  "That's  the  way  to  do  it, 
Spargo!  I  congratulate  you.  Yes,  that's  the  way — • 
certain !" 

Spargo,  idly  turning  over  a  pile  of  exchanges,  yawned. 

"What  way?"  he  asked  indifferently. 

"The  way  you've  written  this  thing  up,"  said  Breton. 
"It's  a  hundred  thousand  times  better  than  the  usual 
cut-and-dried  account  of  a  murder.  It's — it's  like  a — 
a  romance ! ' ' 

"Merely  a  new  method  of  giving  news,"  said  Spargo. 
He  picked  up  a  copy  of  the  Watchman,  and  glanced  at 
his  two  columns,  which  had  somehow  managed  to  make 
themselves  into  three,  viewing  the  displayed  lettering, 
the  photograph  of  the  dead  man,  the  line  drawing  of 
the  entry  in  Middle  Temple  Lane,  and  the  facsimile  of 
the  scrap  of  grey  paper,  with  a  critical  eye.  "Yes — 
merely  a  new  method, ' '  he  continued.  6 i  The  question  is 
— will  it  achieve  its  object?" 

"What's  the  object?"  asked  Breton. 

Spargo  fished  out  a  box  of  cigarettes  from  an  untidy 

53 


54       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


drawer,  pushed  it  over  to  his  visitor,  helped  himself, 
and  tilting  back  his  chair,  put  his  feet  on  his  desk. 

"The  object ?"  he  said,  drily.  "Oh,  well,  the  object, 
is  the  ultimate  detection  of  the  murderer. ' ' 

"You're  after  that?" 

"I'm  after  that— just  that." 

"And  not — not  simply  out  to  make  effective  news?" 

"I'm  out  to  find  the  murderer  of  John  Marbury," 
said  Spargo  deliberately  slow  in  his  speech.  "And  111 
find  him." 

"Well,  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  in  the  way  of 
clues,  so  far,"  remarked  Breton.    "I  see — nothing.  Do 

you?" 

Spargo  sent  a  spiral  of  scented  smoke  into  the  air. 

"I  want  to  know  an  awful  lot,"  he  said.  "I'm  hun- 
gering for  news.  I  want  to  know  who  John  Marbury 
is.  I  want  to  know  what  he  did  with  himself  between 
the  time  when  he  walked  out  of  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel, 
alive  and  well,  and  the  time  when  he  was  found  in  Mid- 
dle Temple  Lane,  with  his  skull  beaten  in  and  dead.  I 
want  to  know  where  he  got  that  scrap  of  paper.  Above 
everything,  Breton,  I  want  to  know  what  he 'd  got  to  do 
with  you!" 

He  gave  the  young  barrister  a  keen  look,  and  Breton 

nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said.   "I  confess  that's  a  corker.   But  I 

think  " 

"Well?"  said  Spargo. 

4 '  I  think  he  may  have  been  a  man  who  had  some  legal 
business  in  hand,  or  in  prospect,  and  had  been  recom- 
mended to— me,"  said  Breton. 


WITNESS  TO  A  MEETING  55 


Spargo  smiled — a  little  sardonically. 

"That's  good!"  he  said.  "You  had  your  very  first 
brief — yesterday.  Come — your  fame  isn't  blown  abroad 
through  all  the  heights  yet,  my  friend !  Besides — don 't 
intending  clients  approach — isn't  it  strict  etiquette  for 
them  to  approach? — barristers  through  solicitors?" 

"Quite  right — in  both  your  remarks/'  replied  Breton, 
good-humouredly.  "Of  course,  I'm  not  known  a  bit, 
but  all  the  same  I've  known  several  cases  where  a  bar- 
rister has  been  approached  in  the  first  instance  and  asked 
to  recommend  a  solicitor.  Somebody  who  wanted  to 
do  me  a  good  turn  may  have  given  this  man  my  ad- 
dress. ' 9 

"Possible,"  said  Spargo.  "But  he  wouldn't  have 
come  to  consult  you  at  midnight,  Breton ! — the  more  I 
think  of  it,  the  more  I'm  certain  there's  a  tremendous 
Inystery  in  this  affair!  That's  why  I  got  the  chief  to 
let  me  write  it  up  as  I  have  done — here.  I'm  hoping 
that  this  photograph — though  to  be  sure,  it's  of  a  dead 
face — and  this  facsimile  of  the  scrap  of  paper  will  lead 
to  somebody  coming  forward  who  can  " 

Just  then  one  of  the  uniformed  youths  who  hang 
about  the  marble  pillared  vestibule  of  the  Watchman 
office  came  into  the  room  with  the  unmistakable  look  and 
air  of  one  who  carries  news  of  moment. 

"I  dare  lay  a  sovereign  to  a  cent  that  I  know  what 
this  is, ' 9  muttered  Spargo  in  an  aside.  "Well ? "  he  said 
to  the  boy.    "What  is  it?" 

The  messenger  came  up  to  the  desk. 

"Mr.  Spargo,"  he  said,  "there's  a  man  downstairs 
who  says  that  he  wants  to  see  somebody  about  that  mur- 


56       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


der  case  that's  in  the  paper  this  morning,  sir.  Mr.  Bar- 
rett said  I  was  to  come  to  you. ' ' 

"Who  is  the  man?'7  asked  Spargo. 

"Won't  say,  sir,"  replied  the  boy.  "I  gave  him  a 
form  to  fill  up,  but  he  said  he  wouldn't  write  anything 
— said  all  he  wanted  was  to  see  the  man  who  wrote  the 
piece  in  the  paper." 

'  c  Bring  him  here, ' '  commanded  Spargo.  He  turned  to 
Breton  when  the  boy  had  gone,  and  he  smiled.  "I  knew 
we  should  have  somebody  here  sooner  or  later,"  he  said. 
"That's  why  I  hurried  over  my  breakfast  and  came  down 
at  ten  o'clock.  Now  then,  what  will  you  bet  on  the 
chances  of  this  chap's  information  proving  valuable?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Breton.  "He's  probably  some 
erank  or  faddist  who's  got  some  theory  that  he  wants 
to  ventilate." 

The  man  who  was  presently  ushered  in  by  the  messen- 
ger seemed  from  preliminary  and  outward  appearance 
to  justify  Breton's  prognostication.  He  was  obviously 
a  countryman,  a  tall,  loosely-built,  middle-aged  man,  yel- 
low of  hair,  blue  of  eye,  who  was  wearing  his  Sunday- 
best  array  of  pearl-grey  trousers  and  black  coat,  and 
sported  a  necktie  in  which  were  several  distinct  colours. 
Oppressed  with  the  splendour  and  grandeur  of  the 
Watchman  building,  he  had  removed  his  hard  billycock 
hat  as  he  followed  the  boy,  and  he  ducked  his  bared  head 
at  the  two  young  men  as  he  stepped  on  to  the  thick  pile 
of  the  carpet  which  made  luxurious  footing  in  Spargo 's 
room.  His  blue  eyes,  opened  to  their  widest,  looked 
round  him  in  astonishment  at  the  sumptuousness  of 
modern  newspaper-office  accommodation. 


WITNESS  TO  A  MEETING  57 


^How  do  you  do,  sir?"  said  Spargo,  pointing  a  finger 
to  one  of  the  easy-chairs  for  which  the  Watchman  office 
is  famous.    "I  understand  that  you  wish  to  see  me!" 

The  caller  ducked  his  yellow  head  again,  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  chair,  put  his  hat  on  the  floor,  picked  it 
up  again,  and  endeavoured  to  hang  it  on  his  knee,  and 
looked  at  Spargo  innocently  and  shyly. 

"What  I  want  to  see,  sir,"  he  observed  in  a  rustic 
accent,  "is  the  gentleman  as  wrote  that  piece  in  your 
newspaper  about  this  here  murder  in  Middle  Temple 
Lane." 

"You  see  him,"  said  Spargo.    "I  am  that  man." 
I    The  caller  smiled — generously. 

"Indeed,  sir?"  he  said.  "A  very  nice  bit  of  reading, 
I'm  sure.  And  what  might  your  name  be,  now,  sir? 
I  can  always  talk  free-er  to  a  man  when  I  know  whati 
his  name  is." 

"So  can  I,"  answered  Spargo.  "My  name  is  Spargo 
— Frank  Spargo.    What 's  yours  ? 9  9 

"Name  of  Webster,  sir — William  Webster.  I  farm 
at  One  Ash  Farm,  at  Gosberton,  in  Oakshire.  Me  and 
my  wife,"  continued  Mr.  Webster,  again  smiling  and 
distributing  his  smile  between  both  his  hearers,  "is  at 
present  in  London  on  a  holiday.  And  very  pleasant  we 
find  it — weather  and  all." 

"That's  right,"  said  Spargo.  "And — you  wanted  to 
see  me  about  this  murder,  Mr.  Webster?" 

1 '  I  did,  sir.  Me,  I  believe,  knowing,  as  I  think,  some- 
thing that'll  do  for  you  to  put  in  your  paper.  You  see, 
Mr.  Spargo,  it  come  about  in  this  fashion — happen  you'll 
be  for  me  to  tell  it  in  my  own  way." 


58       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"That,"  answered  Spargo,  "is  precisely  what  I  de- 
sire. ' 7 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  I  couldn't  tell  it  in  no  other," 
declared  Mr.  Webster.  "You  see,  sir,  I  read  your  paper 
this  morning  while  I  was  waiting  for  my  breakfast — 
they  take  their  breakfasts  so  late  in  them  hotels — and 
when  I'd  read  it,  and  looked  at  the  pictures,  I  says  to 
my  wife  'As  soon  as  I've  had  my  breakfast,'  I  says,  ' I'm 
going  to  where  they  print  this  newspaper  to  tell  'em 
something.'  'Aye?'  she  says,  'Why,  what  have  you  to 
tell,  I  should  like  to  know?'  just  like  that,  Mr.  Spargo." 

"Mrs.  Webster,"  said  Spargo,  "is  a  lady  of  business- 
like principles.    And  what  have  you  to  tell?" 

Mr.  Webster  looked  into  the  crown  of  his  hat,  looked 
out  of  it,  and  smiled  knowingly. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  continued,  "Last  night,  my  wife,  she 
went  out  to  a  part  they  call  Clapham,  to  take  her  tea 
and  supper  with  an  old  friend  of  hers  as  lives  there, 
and  as  they  wanted  to  have  a  bit  of  woman-talk,  like,  I 
didn't  go.  So  thinks  I  to  myself,  I'll  go  and  see  this 
here  House  of  Commons.  There  was  a  neighbour  of 
mine  as  had  told  me  that  all  you'd  got  to  do  was  to  tell 
the  policeman  at  the  door  that  you  wanted  to  see  your 
own  Member  of  Parliament.  So  when  I  got  there  I  told 
'em  that  I  wanted  to  see  our  M.P.,  Mr.  Stonewood — 
you'll  have  heard  tell  of  him,  no  doubt;  he  knows  me 
very  well — and  they  passed  me,  and  I  wrote  out  a  ticket 
for  him,  and  they  told  me  to  sit  down  while  they  found 
him.  So  I  sat  down  in  a  grand  sort  of  hall  where  there 
were  a  rare  lot  of  people  going  and  coming,  and  some 
fine  pictures  and  images  to  look  at,  and  for  a  time  I 


WITNESS  TO  A  MEETING  59 


looked  at  them,  and  then  I  began  to  take  a  bit  of  notice 
of  the  folk  near  at  hand,  waiting,  you  know,  like  myself. 
And  as  sure  asl'ma  christened  man,  sir,  the  gentleman 
whose  picture  you've  got  in  your  paper — him  as  was 
murdered — was  sitting  next  to  me !  I  knew  that  picture 
as  soon  as  I  saw  it  this  morning." 

Spargo,  who  had  been  making  unmeaning  scribbles 
on  a  block  of  paper,  suddenly  looked  at  his  visitor. 

"What  time  was  that?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  between  a  quarter  and  half -past  nine,  sir," 
answered  Mr.  "Webster.  "It  might  ha'  been  twenty  past 
« — it  might  ha'  been  twenty-five  past." 

"Go  on,  if  you  please,"  said  Spargo. 

"Well,  sir,  me  and  this  here  dead  gentleman  talked 
ia  bit.  About  what  a  long  time  it  took  to  get  a  member 
to  attend  to  you,  and  such-like.  I  made  mention  of  the 
fact  that  I  hadn't  been  in  there  before.  6 Neither  have 
I!'  he  says,  'I  came  in  out  of  curiosity,'  he  says,  and  then 
he  laughed,  sir — queer-like.  ^And  it  was  just  after  that 
that  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  happened." 

"Tell,"  commanded  Spargo. 

"Well,  sir,  there  was  a  gentleman  came  along,  down 
this  grand  hall  that  we  were  sitting  in — a  tall,  handsome 
gentleman,  with  a  grey  beard.  He'd  no  hat  on,  and  he 
was  carrying  a  lot  of  paper  and  documents  in  his  hand, 
so  I  thought  he  was  happen  one  of  the  members.  And 
all  of  a  sudden  this  here  man  at  my  side,  he  jumps  up 
with  a  sort  of  start  and  an  exclamation,  and  " 

Spargo  lifted  his  hand.  He  looked  keenly  at  his  vis- 
itor. 

"Now,  you're  absolutely  sure  about  what  you  heard 


60       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


him  exclaim?"  he  asked.  " Quite  sure  about  it?  Be- 
cause I  see  you  are  going  to  tell  us  what  he  did  exclaim.5 9 

6 'I'll  tell  you  naught  but  what  I'm  certain  of,  sir," 
replied  "Webster.  ' '  "What  he  said  as  he  jumped  up  was 
/Good  God!'  he  says,  sharp-like — and  then  he  said  a 
name,  and  I  didn't  right  catch  it,  but  it  sounded  like 
Danesworth,  or  Painesworth,  or  something  of  that  sort — 
one  of  them  there,  or  very  like  'em,  at  any  rate.  And 
then  he  rushed  up  to  this  here  gentleman,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  arm — sudden-like." 

"And — the  gentleman?"  asked  Spargo,  quietly. 

"Well,  he  seemed  taken  aback,  sir.  He  jumped. 
Then  he  stared  at  the  man.  Then  they  shook  hands. 
And  then,  after  they'd  spoken  a  few  words  together-like, 
they  walked  off,  talking.  And,  of  course,  I  never  saw 
no  more  of  'em.  But  when  I  saw  your  paper  this  morn- 
ing, sir,  and  that  picture  in  it,  I  said  to  myself  ' That's 
the  man  I  sat  next  to  in  that  there  hall  at  the  House  of 
Commons ! '    Oh,  there 's  no  doubt  of  it,  sir ! " 

"And  supposing  you  saw  a  photograph  of  the  tall 
gentleman  with  the  grey  beard?"  suggested  Spargo. 
"Could  you  recognize  him  from  that?" 

"Make  no  doubt  of  it,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Webster. 
"I  observed  him  particular." 

Spargo  rose,  and  going  over  to  a  cabinet,  took  from  it 
a  thick  volume,  the  leaves  of  which  he  turned  over  for 
several  minutes. 

"Come  here,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Webster,"  he  said. 

The  farmer  went  across  the  room. 

"There  is  a  full  set  of  photographs  of  members  of 
the  present  House  of  Commons  here,"  said  Spargo. 


WITNESS  TO  A  MEETING  61 


"Now,  pick  out  the  one  you  saw.  Take  your  time — and 
be  sure." 

He  left  his  caller  turning  over  the  album  and  went 
back  to  Breton. 

"There!"  he  whispered.  "Getting  nearer — a  bit 
nearer — eh  ? ' ' 

'  6  To  what  ? ' 9  asked  Breton.    "  I  don 't  see  7  9 

A  sudden  exclamation  from  the  farmer  interrupted 
Breton's  remark. 

"This  is  him,  sir!"  answered  Mr.  Webster.  "That's 
the  gentleman — know  him  anywhere!" 

The  two  young  men  crossed  the  room.  The  farmer 
was  pointing  a  stubby  finger  to  a  photograph,  beneath 
which  was  written  Stephen  Aylmore,  Esq.,  M.P.  for 
Brookmimter. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

MR.  AYLMORE 

Spargo,  keenly  observant  and  watchful,  felt,  rather 
than  saw,  Breton  start;  he  himself  preserved  an  im- 
perturbable equanimity.  He  gave  a  mere  glance  at  the 
photograph  to  which  Mr.  Webster  was  pointing. 

"Oh!"  he  said.    "That  he?" 

' '  That 's  the  gentleman,  sir, ' '  replied  Webster.  ' 1  Done 
to  the  life,  that  is.  No  difficulty  in  recognizing  of  that, 
Mr.  Spargo." 

' c  You  're  absolutely  sure  ? ' '  demanded  Spargo.  '  1  There 
are  a  lot  of  men  in  the  House  of  Commons,  you  know, 
who  wear  beards,  and  many  of  the  beards  are  grey. ' ' 

But  Webster  wagged  his  head. 

"That's  him,  sir!"  he  repeated.  "I'm  as  sure  of  that 
as  I  am  that  my  name's  William  Webster.  That's  the 
man  I  saw  talking  to  him  whose  picture  you've  got  in 
your  paper.    Can't  say  no  more,  sir." 

"Very  good,"  said  Spargo.  "I'm  much  obliged  to 
you.  I'll  see  Mr.  Aylmore.  Leave  me  your  address  in 
London,  Mr.  Webster.  How  long  do  you  remain  in 
town?" 

"My  address  is  the  Beachcroft  Hotel,  Bloomsbury, 
sir,  and  I  shall  be  there  for  another  week,"  answered  the 
farmer.    "Hope  I've  been  of  some  use,  Mr.  Spargo. 

As  I  says  to  my  wife  " 

62 


MR.  AYLMORE 


63 


Spargo  cut  his  visitor  short  in  polite  fashion  and 
bowed  him  out.  He  turned  to  Breton,  who  still  stood 
staring  at  the  album  of  portraits. 

' ' There!— what  did  I  tell  you?"  he  said.  "Didn't  I 
say  I  should  get  some  news?    There  it  is." 

Breton  nodded  his  head.    He  seemed  thoughtful. 

* 6  Yes, ' 9  he  agreed.    ' 1  Yes,  I  say,  Spargo ! 9  9 

"Well?" 

"Mr.  Aylmore  is  my  prospective  father-in-law,  you 
know. ' ' 

" Quite  aware  of  it.  Didn't  you  introduce  me  to  his 
daughters — only  yesterday  ? ' 9 

"But — how  did  you  know  they  were  his  daughters?" 

Spargo  laughed  as  he  sat  down  to  his  desk. 

"Instinct — intuition,"  he  answered.  "However, 
never  mind  that,  just  now.  Well — I  've  found  something 
out.  Marbury — if  that  is  the  dead  man's  real  name,  and 
anyway,  it's  all  we  know  him  by — was  in  the  company 
of  Mr.  Aylmore  that  night.  Good!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked  Breton. 

"Do?    See  Mr.  Aylmore,  of  course." 

He  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  telephone  address- 
book;  one  hand  had  already  picked  up  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  instrument  on  his  desk. 

"Look  here,"  said  Breton.  "I  know  where  Mr.  Ayl- 
more is  always  to  be  found  at  twelve  o'clock.  At  the 
A.  and  P. — the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Club,  you  know,  in 
St.  James's.    If  you  like,  I'll  go  with  you." 

Spargo  glanced  at  the  clock  and  laid  down  the  tele- 
phone. 

"All  right/'  he  said.    "Eleven  o'clock,  now.  I've 


64       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


something  to  do.  Ill  meet  you  outside  the  A.  and  P. 
at  exactly  noon." 

1 6 I'll  be  there,"  agreed  Breton.  He  made  for  the 
door,  and  with  his  hand  on  it,  turned.  ' '  What  do  you 
expect  from — from  what  we've  just  heard?"  he  asked. 

Spargo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

' 1  Wait — until  we  hear  what  Mr.  Aylmore  has  to  say," 
he  answered.  "I  suppose  this  man  Marbury  was  some 
old  acquaintance." 

Breton  closed  the  door  and  went  away:  left  alone, 
Spargo  began  to  mutter  to  himself. 

t 1  Good  God!"  he  says.  "Dainsworth — Painsworth — 
something  of  that  sort — one  of  the  two.  Excellent — that 
our  farmer  friend  should  have  so  much  observation. 
Ah! — and  why  should  Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore  be  recog- 
nized as  Dainsworth  or  Painsworth  or  something  of  that 
sort.  Now,  who  is  Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore — beyond  being 
what  I  know  him  to  be?" 

Spargo 's  fingers  went  instinctively  to  one  of  a  number 
of  books  of  reference  which  stood  on  his  desk:  they 
turned  with  practised  swiftness  to  a  page  over  which  his 
eye  ran  just  as  swiftly.    He  read  aloud: 

"  Aylmore,  Stephen,  M.P.  for  Brookminster  since 
1910.  Residences:  23,  St.  Osythe  Court,  Kensington: 
Buena  Vista,  Great  Marlow.  Member  Atlantic  and  Pa- 
cific and  City  Venturers '  Clubs.  Interested  in  South 
American  enterprise." 

"Um!"  muttered  Spargo,  putting  the  book  away. 
1 1  That's  not  very  illuminating.  However,  we've  got  one 
move  finished.    Now  we'll  make  another." 

Going  over  to  the  album  of  photographs,  Spargo  deftly 


MR.  AYLMORE 


65 


removed  that  of  Mr.  Aylmore,  put  it  in  an  envelope  and 
the  envelope  in  his  pocket  and,  leaving  the  office,  hailed 
a  taxi-cab,  and  ordered  its  driver  to  take  him  to  the 
Anglo-Orient  Hotel.  This  was  the  something-to-do  of 
which  he  had  spoken  to  Breton :  Spargo  wanted  to  do  it 
alone. 

Mrs.  Walters  was  in  her  low-windowed  office  when 
Spargo  entered  the  hall ;  she  recognized  him  at  once  and 
motioned  him  into  her  parlour. 

"I  remember  you,"  said  Mrs.  Walters;  "you  came  with 
the  detective — Mr.  Rathbury." 

4 'Have  you  seen  him,  since?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Not  since,"  replied  Mrs.  Walters.    "No — and  I  was 

wondering  if  he'd  be  coming  round,  because  "  She 

paused  there  and  looked  at  Spargo  with  particular  en- 
quiry— "You're  a  friend  of  his,  aren't  you?"  she  asked. 
' '  I  suppose  you  know  as  much  as  he  does — about  this  ? 7  9 

"He  and  I,"  replied  Spargo,  with  easy  confidence, 
"are  working  this  case  together.  You  can  tell  me  any- 
thing you'd  tell  him." 

The  landlady  rummaged  in  her  pocket  and  produced 
an  old  purse,  from  an  inner  compartment  of  which  she 
brought  out  a  small  object  wrapped  in  tissue  paper. 

"Well,"  she  said,  unwrapping  the  paper,  "we  found 
this  in  Number  20  this  morning — it  was  lying  under  the 
dressing-table.  The  girl  that  found  it  brought  it  to  me, 
and  I  thought  it  was  a  bit  of  glass,  but  Walters,  he  says 
as  how  he  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it's  a  diamond.  And 
since  we  found  it,  the  waiter  who  took  the  whisky  up  to 
20,  after  Mr.  Marbury  came  in  with  the  other  gentleman, 
has  told  me  that  when  he  went  into  the  room  the  two 


66       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


gentlemen  were  looking  at  a  paper  full  of  things  like 
this.    So  there?" 

Spargo  fingered  the  shining  bit  of  stone. 

4  *  That's  a  diamond — right  enough,"  he  said.  "Put  it 
away,  Mrs.  Walters — I  shall  see  Rathbury  presently,  and 
I'll  tell  him  about  it.  Now,  that  other  gentleman !  You 
told  us  you  saw  him.  Could  you  recognize  him — I  mean, 
a  photograph  of  him?    Is  this  the  man?" 

Spargo  knew  from  the  expression  of  Mrs.  Walters' 
face  that  she  had  no  more  doubt  than  Webster  had. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  said.  "That's  the  gentleman  who 
came  in  with  Mr.  Marbury — I  should  have  known  him  in 
a  thousand.  Anybody  would  recognize  him  from  that — 
perhaps  you'd  let  our  hall-porter  and  the  waiter  I  men- 
tioned just  now  look  at  it?" 

"I'll  see  them  separately  and  see  if  they've  ever  seen 
a  man  who  resembles  this,"  replied  Spargo. 

The  two  men  recognized  the  photograph  at  once,  with- 
out any  prompting,  and  Spargo,  after  a  word  or  two 
with  the  landlady,  rode  off  to  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
Club,  and  found  Ronald  Breton  awaiting  him  on  the 
steps.  He  made  no  reference  to  his  recent  doings,  and 
together  they  went  into  the  house  and  asked  for  Mr. 
Aylmore. 

Spargo  looked  with  more  than  uncommon  interest  at 
the  man  who  presently  came  to  them  in  the  visitors' 
room.  He  was  already  familiar  with  Mr.  Aylmore 's 
photograph,  but  he  never  remembered  seeing  him  in  real 
life ;  the  Member  for  Brookminster  was  one  of  that  rap- 
idly diminishing  body  of  legislators  whose  members  are 
disposed  to  work  quietly  and  unobtrusively,  doing  yeo- 


MR.  AYLMORE 


67 


man  service  on  committees,  obeying  every  behest  of  the 
party  whips,  without  forcing  themselves  into  the  lime- 
light or  seizing  every  opportunity  to  air  their  opinions. 
Now  that  Spargo  met  him  in  the  flesh  he  proved  to  be 
pretty  much  what  the  journalist  had  expected — a  rather 
cold-mannered,  self-contained  man,  who  looked  as  if  he 
had  been  brought  up  in  a  school  of  rigid  repression,  and 
taught  not  to  waste  words.  He  showed  no  more  than  the 
merest  of  languid  interests  in  Spargo  when  Breton  in- 
troduced him,  and  his  face  was  quite  expressionless  when 
Spargo  brought  to  an  end  his  brief  explanation — pur- 
posely shortened — of  his  object  in  calling  upon  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said  indifferently.  "Yes,  it  is  quite  true 
that  I  met  Marbury  and  spent  a  little  time  with  him  on 
the  evening  your  informant  spoke  of.  I  met  him,  as  he 
told  you,  in  the  lobby  of  the  House.  I  was  much  sur- 
prised to  meet  him.  I  had  not  seen  him  for — I  really 
don't  know  how  many  years." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Spargo  as  if  he  was  wonder- 
ing What  he  ought  or  not  to  say  to  a  newspaper  man. 
Spargo  remained  silent,  waiting.  And  presently  Mr. 
Aylmore  went  on. 

"I  read  your  account  in  the  Watchman  this  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "I  was  wondering,  when  you  called  just 
now,  if  I  would  communicate  with  you  or  with  the  police. 
The  fact  is — I  suppose  you  want  this  for  your  paper, 
eh  ? "  he  continued  after  a  sudden  breaking  off. 

"I  shall  not  print  anything  that  you  wish  me  not  to 
print,"  answered  Spargo.  "If  you  care  to  give  me  any 
information  ' ' 

1 '  Oh,  well ! ' 9  said  Mr.  Aylmore.    "  I  don 't  mind.  The 


68       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


fact  is,  I  knew  next  to  nothing.  Marbury  was  a  man 
with,  whom  I  had  some — well,  business  relations,  of  a 
sort,  a  great  many  years  ago.  It  must  be  twenty  years 
— perhaps  more — since  I  lost  sight  of  him.  When  he 
came  up  to  me  in  the  lobby  the  other  night,  I  had  to 
make  an  effort  of  memory  to  recall  him.  He  wished  me, 
having  once  met  me,  to  give  him  some  advice,  and  as 
there  was  little  doing  in  the  House  that  night,  and  as  he 
had  once  been — almost  a  friend — I  walked  to  his  hotel 
with  him,  chatting.  He  told  me  that  he  had  only  landed 
from  Australia  that  morning,  and  what  he  wanted  my 
advice  about,  principally,  was — diamonds.  Australian 
diamonds." 

"I  was  unaware,"  remarked  Spargo,  ' ' that  diamonds 
were  ever  found  in  Australia. ' ' 

Mr.  Aylmore  smiled — a  little  cynically. 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  said.  "But  diamonds  have  been 
found  in  Australia  from  time  to  time,  ever  since  Aus- 
tralia was  known  to  Europeans,  and  in  the  opinion  of 
experts,  they  will  eventually  be  found  there  in  quan- 
tity. Anyhow,  Marbury  had  got  hold  of  some  Aus- 
tralian diamonds,  and  he  showed  them  to  me  at  his  hotel 
— a  number  of  them.    We  examined  them  in  his  room. ' ' 

"What  did  he  do  with  them — afterwards?"  asked 
Spargo. 

* '  He  put  them  in  his  waistcoat  pocket — in  a  very  small 
wash-leather  bag,  from  which  he  had  taken  them.  There 
were,  in  all,  sixteen  or  twenty  stones — not  more,  and 
they  were  all  small.  I  advised  him  to  see  some  expert 
— I  mentioned  Streeter's  to  him.  Now,  I  can  tell  you 
how  he  got  hold  of  Mr.  Breton's  address." 


MR.  AYLMORE 


69 


The  two  young  men  pricked  up  their  ears.  Spargo 
unconsciously  tightened  his  hold  on  the  pencil  with 
which  he  was  making  notes. 

* '  He  got  it  from  me, ' '  continued  Mr.  Aylmore.  *  6  The 
handwriting  on  the  scrap  of  paper  is  mine,  hurriedly 
scrawled.  He  wanted  legal  advice.  As  I  knew  very 
little  about  lawyers,  I  told  him  that  if  he  called  on  Mr. 
Breton,  Mr.  Breton  would  be  able  to  tell  him  of  a  first- 
class,  sharp  solicitor.  I  wrote  down  Mr.  Breton's  ad- 
dress for  him,  on  a  ^crap  of  paper  which  he  tore  off  a 
letter  that  he  took  from  his  pocket.  By  the  by,  I  ob- 
serve that  when  his  body  was  found  there  was  nothing 
on  it  in  the  shape  of  papers  or  money.  I  am  quite  sure 
that  when  I  left  him  he  had  a  lot  of  gold  on  him,  those 
diamonds,  and  a  breast-pocket  full  of  letters." 

"Where  did  you  leave  him,  sir?"  asked  Spargo. 
"You  left  the  hotel  together,  I  believe?" 

"Yes.  We  strolled  along  when  we  left  it.  Having 
once  met,  we  had  much  to  talk  of,  and  it  was  a  fine 
night.  We  walked  across  Waterloo  Bridge  and  very 
shortly  afterwards  he  left  me.  And  that  is  really  all  I 
know.  My  own  impression  "  He  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment and  Spargo  waited  silently. 

"My  own  impression — though  I  confess  it  may  seem 
to  have  no  very  solid  grounds — is  that  Marbury  was  de- 
coyed to  where  he  was  found,  and  was  robbed  and  mur- 
dered by  some  person  who  knew  he  had  valuables  on 
him.    There  is  the  fact  that  he  was  robbed,  at  any  rate." 

"I've  had  a  notion,"  said  Breton,  diffidently. 
" Mayn't  be  worth  much,  but  I've  had  it,  all  the  same. 
Some  fellow-passenger  of  Marbury 's  may  have  tracked 


70       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


him  all  day — Middle  Temple  Lane's  pretty  lonely  at 
night,  you  know. ' ' 

No  one  made  any  comment  upon  this  suggestion,  and 
on  Spargo  looking  at  Mr.  Aylmore,  the  Member  of  Par- 
liament rose  and  glanced  at  the  door. 

"Well,  that's  all  I  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Spargo,"  he  said. 
"You  see,  it's  not  much,  after  all.  Of  course,  there'll 
be  an  inquest  on  Marbury,  and  I  shall  have  to  re-tell  it. 
But  you're  welcome  to  print  what  J've  told  you." 

Spargo  left  Breton  with  his  future  father-in-law  and 
went  away  towards  New  Scotland  Yard.  He  and  Rath- 
bury  had  promised  to  share  news — now  he  had  some  to 
communicate. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  SAFE  DEPOSIT 

Spargo  found  Rathbury  sitting  alone  in  a  small,  some- 
what dismal  apartment  which  was  chiefly  remarkable  for 
the  business-like  paucity  of  its  furnishings  and  its  in- 
definable air  of  secrecy.  There  was  a  plain  writing- 
table  and  a  hard  chair  or  two ;  a  map  of  London,  much 
discoloured,  on  the  wall;  a  few  faded  photographs  of 
eminent  bands  in  the  world  of  crime,  and  a  similar  num- 
ber of  well-thumbed  books  of  reference.  The  detective 
himself,  when  Spargo  was  shown  in  to  him,  was  seated  at 
the  table,  chewing  an  unlighted  cigar,  and  engaged  in  the 
apparently  aimless  task  of  drawing  hieroglyphics  on 
scraps  of  paper.  He  looked  up  as  the  journalist  entered, 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

i  1  Well,  I  congratulate  you  on  what  you  stuck  in  the 
Watchman  this  morning/ '  he  said.  6 1  Made  extra  good 
reading,  I  thought.  They  did  right  to  let  you  tackle 
that  job.  Going  straight  through  with  it  now,  I  sup- 
pose, Mr.  Spargo V9 

Spargo  dropped  into  the  chair  nearest  to  Rathbury 's 
right  hand.  He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  having  blown 
out  a  whiff  of  smoke,  nodded  his  head  in  a  fashion  which 
indicated  that  the  detective  might  consider  his  question 
answered  in  the  affirmative. 

4 'Look  here,"  he  said.    "We  settled  yesterday,  didn't 

71 


72      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


we,  that  you  and  I  are  to  consider  ourselves  partners,  as 
it  were,  in  this  job?  That's  all  right/ '  he  continued, 
as  Rathbury  nodded  very  quietly.  "Very  well — have 
you  made  any  further  progress  ? ' ' 

Rathbury  put  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waist- 
coat and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  shook  his  head. 

"Frankly,  I  haven't,"  he  replied.  "Of  course, 
there 's  a  lot  being  done  in  the  usual  official-routine  way. 
"We've  men  out  making  various  enquiries.  "We're  en- 
quiring about  Marbury's  voyage  to  England.  All  that 
we  know  up  to  now  is  that  he  was  certainly  a  passenger 
on  a  liner  which  landed  at  Southampton  in  accordance 
with  what  he  told  those  people  at  the  Anglo-Orient,  that 
he  left  the  ship  in  the  usual  way  and  was  understood  to 
take  the  train  to  town — as  he  did.  That's  all.  There's 
nothing  in  that.  We've  cabled  to  Melbourne  for  any 
news  of  him  from  there,    But  I  expect  little  from  that. ' ' 

"All  right,"  said  Spargo.  "And — what  are  you  do- 
ing— you,  yourself?  Because,  if  we're  to  share  facts,  I 
must  know  what  my  partner's  after.  Just  now,  you 
seemed  to  be — drawing." 

Rathbury  laughed. 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said,  "when  I  want 
to  work  things  out,  I  come  into  this  room — it 's  quiet,  as 
you  see — and  I  scribble  anything  on  paper  while  I  think. 
I  was  figuring  on  my  next  step,  and  " 

"Do  you  see  it?"  asked  Spargo,  quickly. 

"Well — I  want  to  find  the  man  who  went  with  Mar- 
bury  to  that  hotel,"  replied  Rathbury.    "It  seems  to 


Spargo  wagged  his  finger  at  his  fellow-contriver. 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  SAFE  DEPOSIT  73 


"I've  found  him/'  he  said.  "That's  what  I  wrote 
that  article  for — to  find  him.  I  knew  it  would  find  him. 
I  've  never  had  any  training  in  your  sort  of  work,  but  I 
knew  that  article  would  get  him.    And  it  has  got  him." 

Rathbury  accorded  the  journalist  a  look  of  admira- 
tion. 

"Good!"  he  said.  "And— who  is  he?" 

"I'll  tell  you  the  story,"  answered  Spargo,  "and 
in  a  summary.  This  morning  a  man  named  Webster, 
a  farmer,  a  visitor  to  London,  came  to  me  at  the  office, 
and  said  that  being  at  the  House  of  Commons  last  night 
he  witnessed  a  meeting  between  Marbury  and  a  man  who 
was  evidently  a  Member  of  Parliament,  and  saw  them 
go  away  together.  I  showed  him  an  album  of  photo- 
graphs of  the  present  members,  and  he  immediately  rec- 
ognized the  portrait  of  one  of  them  as  the  man  in  ques- 
tion. I  thereupon  took  the  portrait  to  the  Anglo-Orient 
Hotel — Mrs.  Walters  also  at  once  recognized  it  as  that 
of  the  man  who  came  to  the  hotel  with  Marbury,  stopped 
with  him  a  while  in  his  room,  and  left  with  him.  The 
man  is  Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore,  the  member  for  Brook- 
minster.  ' ' 

Rathbury  expressed  his  feelings  in  a  sharp  whistle. 

"I  know  him!"  he  said.  "Of  course — I  remember 
Mrs.  Walters 's  description  now.  But  his  is  a  familiar 
type — tall,  grey-bearded,  well-dressed.  Urn ! — well, 
we'll  have  to  see  Mr.  Aylmore  at  once." 

"I've  seen  him,"  said  Spargo.  "Naturally!  For 
you  see,  Mrs.  Walters  gave  me  a  bit  more  evidence. 
This  morning  they  found  a  loose  diamond  on  the  floor 
of  Number  20,  and  after  it  was  found  the  waiter  who 


7-1       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


took  the  drinks  up  to  Marbury  and  his  guest  that  night 
remembered  that  when  he  entered  the  room  the  two 
gentlemen  were  looking  at  a  paper  full  of  similar  objects. 
So  then  I  went  on  to  see  Mr.  Aylmore.  You  know  young 
Breton,  the  barrister? — you  met  him  with  me,  you  re- 
member ? ' ' 

"The  young  fellow  whose  name  and  address  were 
found  on  Marbury, ' '  replied  Rathbury.    6 '  I  remember. ' ' 

"Breton  is  engaged  to  Aylmore 's  daughter,"  con- 
tinued Spargo.  "Breton  took  me  to  Aylmore 's  club. 
And  Aylmore  gives  a  plain,  straightforward  account  of 
the  matter  which  he's  granted  me  leave  to  print.  It 
clears  up  a  lot  of  things.  Aylmore  knew  Marbury  over 
twenty  years  ago.  He  lost  sight  of  him.  They  met  ac- 
cidentally in  the  lobby  of  the  House  on  the  evening  pre- 
ceding the  murder.  Marbury  told  him  that  he  wanted 
his  advice  about  those  rare  things,  Australian  diamonds. 
He  went  back  with  him  to  his  hotel  and  spent  a  while 
with  him ;  then  they  walked  out  together  as  far  as  "Water- 
loo Bridge,  where  Aylmore  left  him  and  went  home. 
Further,  the  scrap  of  grey  paper  is  accounted  for.  Mar- 
bury wanted  the  address  of  a  smart  solicitor;  Aylmore) 
didn't  know  of  one  but  told  Marbury  that  if  he  called 
on  young  Breton,  he 'd  know,  and  would  put  him  in  the 
way  to  find  one.  Marbury  wrote  Breton's  address  down. 
That's  Aylmore 's  story.  But  it's  got  an  important  ad- 
dition. Aylmore  says  that  when  he  left  Marbury,  Mar- 
bury had  on  him  a  quantity  of  those  diamonds  in  a  wash- 
leather  bag,  a  lot  of  gold,  and  a  breast-pocket  full  of  let- 
ters and  papers.  Now — there  was  nothing  on  him  when 
he  was  found  dead  in  Middle  Temple  Lane." 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  SAFE  DEPOSIT  75 


Spargo  stopped  and  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette. 
' 1  That's  air  I  know/'  he  said.    i  'What  do  you  make 
of  it?" 

Kathbury  leaned  back  in  his  chair  in  his  apparently 
favourite  attitude  and  stared  hard  at  the  dusty  ceiling 
above  him. 

" Don't  know/'  he  said.  "It  brings  things  up  to  a 
point,  certainly.  Aylmore  and  Marbury  parted  at 
Waterloo  Bridge — very  late.  Waterloo  Bridge  is  pretty 
well  next  door  to  the  Temple.  But — how  did  Marbury 
get  into  the  Temple,  unobserved?  We've  made  every 
enquiry,  and  we  can't  trace  him  in  any  way  as  regards 
that  movement.  There's  a  clue  for  his  going  there  in 
the  scrap  of  paper  bearing  Breton's  address,  but  even 
a  Colonial  would  know  that  no  business  was  done  in  the 
Temple  at  midnight,  eh?" 

"Well,"  said  Spargo,  "I've  thought  of  one  or  two 
things.  He  may  have  been  one  of  those  men  who  like 
to  wander  around  at  night.  He  may  have  seen — he 
would  see — plenty  of  lights  in  the  Temple  at  that  hour ; 
he  may  have  slipped  in  unobserved — it's  possible,  it's 
quite  possible.  I  once  had  a  moonlight  saunter  in  the 
Temple  myself  after  midnight,  and  had  no  difficulty 
about  walking  in  and  out,  either.  But — if  Marbury  was 
murdered  for  the  sake  of  what  he  had  on  him — how  did 
he  meet  with  his  murderer  or  murderers  in  there  ?  Crim- 
inals don't  hang  about  Middle  Temple  Lane." 

The  detective  shook  his  head.  He  picked  up  his  pencil 
and  began  making  more  hieroglyphics. 

"What's  your  theory,  Mr.  Spargo?"  he  asked  sud- 
denly.   "I  suppose  you've  got  one." 


76       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Have  you?"  asked  Spargo,  bluntly. 

"Well,"  returned  Rathbury,  hesitatingly,  "I  hadn't, 
up  to  now.  But  now — now,  after  what  you've  told  me, 
I  think  I  can  make  one.  It  seems  to  me  that  after  Mar- 
bury  left  Aylmore  he  probably  mooned  about  by  himself, 
that  he  was  decoyed  into  the  Temple,  and  was  there 
murdered  and  robbed.  There  are  a  lot  of  queer  ins  and 
outs,  nooks  and  corners  in  that  old  spot,  Mr.  Spargo, 
and  the  murderer,  if  he  knew  his  ground  well,  could 
easily  hide  himself  until  he  could  get  away  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  might  be  a  man  who  had  access  to  chambers  or 
offices— think  how  easy  it  would  be  for  such  a  man,  hav- 
ing once  killed  and  robbed  his  victim,  to  lie  hid  for  hours 
afterwards?  For  aught  we  know,  the  man  who  mur- 
dered Marbury  may  have  been  within  twenty  feet  of  you 
when  you  first  saw  his  dead  body  that  morning.  Eh?" 

Before  Spargo  could  reply  to  this  suggestion  an  of- 
ficial entered  the  room  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  the 
detective's  ear. 

"Show  him  in  at  once,"  said  Rathbury.  He  turned 
to  Spargo  as  the  man  quitted  the  room  and  smiled  sig- 
nificantly. "Here's  somebody  wants  to  tell  something 
about  the  Marbury  case,"  he  remarked.  "Let's  hope 
it'll  be  news  worth  hearing." 

Spargo  smiled  in  his  queer  fashion. 

"It  strikes  me  that  you've  only  got  to  interest  an  in- 
quisitive public  in  order  to  get  news,"  he  said.  "The 
principal  thing  is  to  investigate  it  when  you've  got  it. 
Who's  this,  now?" 

The  official  had  returned  with  a  dapper-looking  gentle- 
man in  a  frock-coat  and  silk  hat,  bearing  upon  him  the 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  SAFE  DEPOSIT  77 


unmistakable  stamp  of  the  city  man,  who  inspected  Rath- 
bury  with  deliberation  and  Spargo  with  a  glance,  and  be- 
ing seated  turned  to  the  detective  as  undoubtedly  the 
person  he  desired  to  converse  with. 

' 4 1  understand  that  you  are  the  officer  in  charge  of 
the  Marbury  murder  case,"  he  observed.  "I  believe  I 
can  give  you  some  valuable  information  in  respect  to 
that.  I  read  the  account  of  the  affair  in  the  Watchman 
newspaper  this  morning,  and  saw  the  portrait  of  the 
murdered  man  there,  and  I  was  at  first  inclined  to  go  to 
the  Watchman  office  with  my  information,  but  I  finally 
decided  to  approach  the  police  instead  of  the  Press,  re- 
garding the  police  as  being  more — more  responsible." 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  Rathbury,  with  a 
glance  at  Spargo.    "Whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of  " 

"My  name,"  replied  the  visitor,  drawing  out  and  lay- 
ing down  a  card,  "is  Myerst — Mr.  E.  P.  Myerst,  Secre- 
tary of  the  London  and  Universal  Safe  Deposit  Com- 
pany. I  may,  I  suppose,  speak  with  confidence,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Myerst,  with  a  side-glance  at  Spargo.  "My 
information  is — confidential. ' ' 

Rathbury  inclined  his  head  and  put  his  fingers  to- 
gether. 

"You  may  speak  with  every  confidence,  Mr.  Myerst," 
he  answered.  "If  what  you  have  to  tell  has  any  real 
bearing  on  the  Marbury  case,  it  will  probably  have  to 
be  repeated  in  public,  you  know,  sir.  But  at  present  it 
will  be  treated  as  private." 

"It  has  a  very  real  bearing  on  the  case,  I  should  say," 
replied  Mr.  Myerst.  "Yes,  I  should  decidedly  say  so. 
The  fact  is  that  on  June  21st  at  about — to  be  precise — 


78       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  a  stranger,  who  gave  the 
name  of  John  Marbury,  and  his  present  address  as  the 
Anglo-Orient  Hotel,  Waterloo,  called  at  our  establish- 
ment, and  asked  if  he  could  rent  a  small  safe.  He  ex- 
plained to  me  that  he  desired  to  deposit  in  such  a  safe 
a  small  leather  box — which,  by  the  by,  was  of  remark- 
ably ancient  appearance — that  he  had  brought  with  him. 
I  showed  him  a  safe  such  as  he  wanted,  informed  him 
of  the  rent,  and  of  the  rules  of  the  place,  and  he  engaged 
the  safe,  paid  the  rent  for  one  year  in  advance,  and  de- 
posited his  leather  box — an  affair  of  about  a  foot  square 
— there  and  then.  After  that,  having  exchanged  a  re- 
mark or  two  about  the  altered  conditions  of  London, 
which,  I  understood  him  to  say  he  had  not  seen  for  a 
great  many  years,  he  took  his  key  and  his  departure.  I 
think  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  this  being  the  Mr. 
Marbury  who  was  found  murdered." 

"None  at  all,  I  should  say,  Mr.  Myerst,"  said  Rath- 
bury.  "And  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  here. 
Now  you  might  tell  me  a  little  more,  sir.  Did  Marbury 
tell  you  anything  about  the  contents  of  the  box?" 

"No.  He  merely  remarked  that  he  wished  the  great- 
est care  to  be  taken  of  it/'  replied  the  secretary. 

"Didn't  give  you  any  hint  as  to  what  was  in  it?" 
asked  Rathbury. 

"None.  But  he  was  very  particular  to  assure  himself 
that  it  could  not  be  burnt,  nor  burgled,  nor  otherwise- 
molested,"  replied  Mr.  Myerst.  "He  appeared  to  be 
greatly  relieved  when  he  found  that  it  was  impossible 
for  anyone  but  himself  to  take  his  property  from  his 
safe." 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  SAFE  DEPOSIT  79 


"Ah!"  said  Rathbury,  winking  at  Spargo.  "So  he 
would,  no  doubt.  And  Marbury  himself,  sir,  now? 
How  did  he  strike  you?" 

Mr.  Myerst  gravely  considered  this  question. 

"Mr.  Marbury  struck  me/'  he  answered  at  last,  "as 
a  man  who  had  probably  seen  strange  places.  And  be- 
fore leaving  he  made,  what  I  will  term,  a  remarkable  re- 
mark.   About — in  fact,  about  his  leather  box." 

"His  leather  box?"  said  Rathbury.  "And  what  was 
it,  sir?" 

"This,"  replied  the  secretary.  "  'That  box/  he  said, 
'is  safe  now.  But  it's  been  safer.  It's  been  buried — 
and  deep-down,  too — for  many  and  many  a  year!'  " 


\ 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  DEALER  IN  RARE  STAMPS 

"  Buried — and  deep-down,  too — for  many  and  many  a 
year,"  repeated  Mr.  My  erst,  eyeing  his  companions  with 
keen  glances.  "I  consider  that,  gentlemen,  a  very  re- 
markable remark — very  remarkable ! ' ' 

Rathbury  stuck  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his 
waistcoat  again  and  began  swaying  backwards  and  for- 
wards in  his  chair.  He  looked  at  Spargo.  And  with 
his  knowledge  of  men,  he  knew  that  all  Spargo 's  journal- 
istic instincts  had  been  aroused,  and  that  he  was  keen 
as  mustard  to  be  off  on  a  new  scent. 

' 1  Remarkable — remarkable,  Mr.  Myerst!"  he  assented. 
"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Spargo  V' 

Spargo  turned  slowly,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
Myerst  had  entered  made  a  careful  inspection  of  him. 
The  inspection  lasted  several  seconds ;  then  Spargo  spoke. 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  that?"  he  asked  quietly. 

Myerst  looked  from  his  questioner  to  Rathbury.  And 
Rathbury  thought  it  time  to  enlighten  the  caller. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Mr.  Myerst,"  he  said  smil- 
ingly, "that  this  is  Mr.  Spargo,  of  the  Watchman.  Mr. 
Spargo  wrote  the  article  about  the  Marbury  case  of  which 
you  spoke  when  you  came  in.    Mr.  Spargo,  you'll  gather. 

80 


THE  DEALER  IN  RARE  STAMPS  81 


is  deeply  interested  in  this  matter — and  he  and  I,  in  our 
different  capacities,  are  working  together.  So — you  un- 
derstand ?" 

Myerst  regarded  Spargo  in  a  new  light.  And  while 
he  was  so  looking  at  him,  Spargo  repeated  the  question 
he  had  just  put. 

"I  said— What  did  you  say  to  that?" 

Myerst  hesitated. 

"Well — er — I  don't  think  I  said  anything,"  he  re-  1 
plied.    "Nothing  that  one  might  call  material,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Didn't  ask  him  what  he  meant?"  suggested  Spargo. 

"Oh,  no — not  at  all,"  replied  Myerst. 

Spargo  got  up  abruptly  from  his  chair. 

"Then  you  missed  one  of  the  finest  opportunities  I 
ever  heard  of!"  he  said,  half-sneeringly.  "You  might 
have  heard  such  a  story  " 

He  paused,  as  if  it  were  not  worth  while  to  continue, 
and  turned  to  Rathbury,  who  was  regarding  him  with 
amusement. 

"Look  here,  Rathbury,"  he  said.  "Is  it  possible  to 
get  that  box  opened?" 

"It'll  have  to  be  opened,"  answered  Rathbury,  rising. 
"It's  got  to  be  opened.  It  probably  contains  the  clue 
we  want.  I'm  going  to  ask  Mr.  Myerst  here  to  go  with 
me  just  now  to  take  the  first  steps  about  having  it  opened. 
I  shall  have  to  get  an  order.  We  may  get  the  matter 
through  today,  but  at  any  rate  we'll  have  it  done  tomor- 
row morning." 

"Can  you  arrange  for  me  to  be  present  when  that 
comes    off?"    asked    Spargo.    "You    can — certain? 


82      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


That's  all  right,  Rathbury.  Now  I'm  off,  and  you'll 
ring  me  up  or  come  round  if  you  hear  anything,  and  111 
do  the  same  by  you." 

And  without  further  word,  Spargo  went  quickly  away, 
and  just  as  quickly  returned  to  the  Watchman  office. 
There  the  assistant  who  had  been  told  off  to  wait  upon 
his  orders  during  this  new  crusade  met  him  with  a  busi- 
ness card. 

"This  gentleman  came  in  to  see  you  about  an  hour 
ago,  Mr.  Spargo,"  he  said.  "He  thinks  he  can  tell  you 
something  about  the  Marbury  affair,  and  he  said  that 
as  lie  couldn't  wait,  perhaps  you'd  step  round  to  his 
place  when  you  came  in." 

Spargo  took  the  card  and  read : 

Mr.  James  Criedir, 
Dealer  in  Philatelic  Rarities, 
2,021,  Strand. 

Spargo  put  the  card  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  went 
out  again,  wondering  why  Mr.  James  Criedir  could  not, 
would  not,  or  did  not  call  himself  a  dealer  in  rare  postage 
stamps,  and  so  use  plain  English.  He  went  up  Fleet 
Street  and  soon  found  the  shop  indicated  on  the  card, 
and  his  first  glance  at  its  exterior  showed  that  whatever 
business  might  have  been  done  by  Mr.  Criedir  in  the 
past  at  that  establishment  there  was  to  be  none  done  there 
in  the  future  by  him,  for  there  were  newly-printed  bills 
in  the  window  announcing  that  the  place  was  to  let. 
And  inside  he  found  a  short,  portly,  elderly  man  who 
was  superintending  the  packing-up  and  removal  of  the 


THE  DEALER  IN  RARE  STAMPS  83 

last  of  his  stock.  He  turned  a  bright,  enquiring  eye  on 
the  journalist. 

"Mr.  Criedir?"  said  Spargo. 

"The  same,  sir/'  answered  the  philatelist.  "You 


"Mr.  Spargo,  of  the  Watchman.    You  called  on  me." 

Mr.  Criedir  opened  the  door  of  a  tiny  apartment  at  the 
rear  of  the  very  little  shop  and  motioned  his  caller  to 
enter.  He  followed  him  in  and  carefully  closed  the 
door. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Spargo,"  he  said  genially. 
"Take  a  seat,  sir — I'm  all  in  confusion  here — giving  up 
business,  you  see.  Yes,  I  called  on  you.  I  think,  having 
read  the  Watchman  account  of  that  Marbury  affair,  and 
having  seen  the  murdered  man's  photograph  in  your 
columns,  that  I  can  give  you  a  bit  of  information." 

"Material?"  asked  Spargo,  tersely. 

Mr.  Criedir  cocked  one  of  his  bright  eyes  at  his  visitor. 
He  coughed  drily. 

"That's  for  you  to  decide — when  you've  heard  it," 
he  said.  "I  should  say,  considering  everything,  that  it 
was  material.  Well,  it's  this — I  kept  open  until  yester- 
day— everything  as  usual,  you  know — stock  in  the  win- 
dow and  so  on — so  that  anybody  who  was  passing  would 
naturally  have  thought  that  the  business  was  going  on, 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  retiring — retired,"  added 
Mr.  Criedir  with  a  laugh,  "last  night.  Now — but  won't 
you  take  down  what  I've  got  to  tell  you?" 

"I  am  taking  it  down,"  answered  Spargo.  "Every 
word.    In  my  head." 

Mr.  Criedir  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands. 


84      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


\ '  Oh ! ' '  he  said.  6 'Ah,  well,  in  my  young  days  journal- 
ists used  to  pull  out  pencil  and  notebook  at  the  first  op- 
portunity.   But  you  modern  young  men  " 

"Just    so,"    agreed    Spargo.    "This  information, 

now?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Criedir,  "we'll  go  on  then.  Yes- 
terday afternoon  the  man  described  as  Marbury  came 
into  my  shop.    He  " 

"What  time — exact  time?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Two — to  the  very  minute  by  St.  Clement  Danes 
clock,"  answered  Mr.  Criedir.  "I'd  swear  twenty  af- 
fidavits on  that  point.  He  was  precisely  as  you've  de- 
scribed him — dress,  everything — I  tell  you  I  knew  his 
photo  as  soon  as  I  saw  it.  He  was  carrying  a  little 
box  " 

"What  sort  of  box?"  said  Spargo. 

"A  queer,  old-fashioned,  much -worn  leather  box — 
a  very  miniature  trunk,  in  fact,"  replied  Mr.  Criedir. 
"About  a  foot  square;  the  sort  of  thing  you  never  see 
nowadays.  It  was  very  much  worn ;  it  attracted  me  for 
that  very  reason.  He  set  it  on  the  counter  and  looked 
at  me.  6  You  're  a  dealer  in  stamps — rare  stamps?'  he 
said.  'I  am,'  I  replied.  'I've  something  here  I'd  like 
to  show  you,'  he  said,  unlocking  the  box.    'It's  " 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Spargo.  "Where  did  he  take  the 
key  from  with  which  he  unlocked  the  box?" 

"It  was  one  of  several  which  he  carried  on  a  split 
ring,  and  he  took  the  bunch  out  of  his  left-hand  trousers 
pocket,"  replied  Mr.  Criedir.  "Oh,  I  keep  my  eyes 
open,  young  gentleman !  Well — he  opened  his  box.  It 
seemed  to  me  to  be  full  of  papers — at  any  rate  there 


THE  DEALER  IN  RARE  STAMPS  85 


were  a  lot  of  legal-looking  documents  on  the  top,  tied 
up  with  red  tape.  To  shew  you  how  I  notice  things  I 
saw  that  the  papers  were  stained  with  age,  and  that  the 
red  tape  was  faded  to  a  mere  washed-out  pink." 

'  -  Good — good ! ' '  murmured  Spargo.  ' '  Excellent ! 
Proceed,  sir." 

"He  put  his  hand  under  the  topmost  papers  and  drew 
out  an  envelope/'  continued  Mr.  Criedir.  "From  the 
envelope  he  produced  an  exceedingly  rare,  exceedingly 
valuable  set  of  Colonial  stamps — the  very  first  ever  is- 
sued. 'I've  just  come  from  Australia/  he  said.  'I 
promised  a  young  friend  of  mine  out  there  to  sell  these 
stamps  for  him  in  London,  and  as  I  was  passing  this 
way  I  caught  sight  of  your  shop.  Will  you  buy  'em, 
and  how  much  will  you  give  for  'em  ? '  " 

"Prompt,"  muttered  Spargo. 

"He  seemed  to  me  the  sort  of  man  who  doesn't  waste 
wyords,"  agreed  Mr.  Criedir.  "Well,  there  was  no  doubt 
about  the  stamps,  nor  about  their  great  value.  But  I 
had  to  explain  to  him  that  I  was  retiring  from  business 
that  very  day,  and  did  not  wish  to  enter  into  even  a 
single  deal,  and  that,  therefore,  I  couldn't  do  anything. 
6 No  matter,'  he  says,  'I  daresay  there  are  lots  of  men  in 
your  line  of  trade — perhaps  you  can  recommend  me  to 
a  good  firm!'  'I  could  recommend  you  to  a  dozen  extra- 
good  firms,'  I  answered.  4 But  I  can  do  better  for  you. 
I'll  give  you  the  name  and  address  of  a  private  buyer 
who,  I  haven't  the  least  doubt,  will  be  very  glad  to  buy 
that  set  from  you  and  will  give  you  a  big  price.'  'AVrite 
it  down,'  he  says,  'and  thank  you  for  your  trouble.'  So 
I  gave  him  a  bit  of  advice  as  to  the  price  he  ought  to 


86       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


get,  and  I  wrote  the  name  and  address  of  the  man  I 
referred  to  on  the  back  of  one  of  my  cards. ' ' 

" Whose  name  and  address?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Mr.  Nicholas  Cardlestone,  2,  Pilcox  Buildings,  Mid- 
1  die  Temple  Lane,"  replied  Mr.  Criedir.  "Mr.  Cardle- 
stone is  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  and  accomplished 
philatelists  in  Europe.  And  I  knew  he  didn't  possess 
that  set  of  stamps." 

"I  know  Mr.  Cardlestone,"  remarked  Spargo.  "It 
was  at  the  foot  of  his  stairs  that  Marbury  was  found 
murdered. ' ' 

1  i  J ust  so, ' '  said  Mr.  Criedir.  1 1  "Which  makes  me  think 
that  he  was  going  to  see  Mr.  Cardlestone  when  he  was 
set  upon,  murdered,  and  robbed." 

Spargo  looked  fixedly  at  the  retired  stamp-dealer. 

"What,  going  to  see  an  elderly  gentleman  in  his 
rooms  in  the  Temple,  to  offer  to  sell  him  philatelic  rari- 
ties at — past  midnight?"  he  said.  "I  think — not 
much ! ' ' 

"All  right,"  replied  Mr.  Criedir.  "You  think  and 
argue  on  modern  lines — which  are,  of  course,  highly  su- 
perior. But — how  do  you  account  for  my  having  given 
Marbury  Mr.  Cardlestone 's  address  and  for  his  having 
been  found  dead — murdered — at  the  foot  of  Cardie- 
stone's  stairs  a  few  hours  later?" 

"I  don't  account  for  it,"  said  Spargo.  "I'm  trying 
to." 

Mr.  Criedir  made  no  comment  on  this.  He  looked 
iis  visitor  up  and  down  for  a  moment;  gathered  some 
idea  of  his  capabilities,  and  suddenly  offered  him  a 
cigarette.    Spargo  accepted  it  with  a  laconic  word  of 


THE  DEALER  IN  RARE  STAMPS  8T 

thanks,  and  smoked  half-way  through  it  before  he  spoke 
again. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I'm  trying  to  account.  And  I 
shall  account.  And  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr. 
Criedir,  for  what  you've  told  me.  Now,  then,  may  I 
ask  you  a  question  or  two?" 

"A  thousand!"  responded  Mr.  Criedir  with  great 
geniality. 

"Very  well.  Did  Marbury  say  he'd  call  on  Cardie- 
stone?" 

"He  did.  Said  he'd  call  as  soon  as  he  could — that 
day." 

"Have  you  told  Cardlestone  what  you've  just  told 
me?" 

"I  have.  But  not  until  an  hour  ago — on  my  way 
back  from  your  office,  in  fact.  I  met  him  in  Fleet  Street 
and  told  him." 

"Had  he  received  a  call  from  Marbury?" 

"No!  Never  heard  of  or  seen  the  man.  At  least, 
never  heard  of  him  until  he  heard  of  the  murder.  He 
told  me  he  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Elphick,  another  philatel- 
ist, went  to  see  the  body,  wondering  if  they  could  recog- 
nize it  as  any  man  they'd  ever  known,  but  they 
couldn't." 

"I  know  they  did,"  said  Spargo.  "I  saw  'em  at  the 
mortuary.  Um!  "Well — one  more  question.  "When 
Marbury  left  you,  did  he  put  those  stamps  in  his  box 
again,  as  before  ? ' ' 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Criedir.  "He  put  them  in  his 
right-hand  breast  pocket,  and  he  locked  up  his  old  box,, 
and  went  off  swinging  it  in  his  left  hand. ' 9 


4 


88      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

Spargo  went  away  dawn  Fleet  Street,  seeing  nobody. 
He  muttered  to  himself,  and  he  was  still  muttering  when 
he  got  into  his  room  at  the  office.    And  what  he  mut- 
tered was  the  same  thing,  repeated  over  and  over  again : 
' 6  Six  hours — six  hours — six  hours !    Those  six  hours ! ' 9 
Next  morning  the  Watchman  came  out  with  four 
leaded  columns  of  up-to-date  news  about  the  Marbury 
Case,  and  right  across  the  top  of  the  four  ran  a  heavy 
double  line  of  great  capitals,  black  and  staring: — 
Who  Saw  John  Marbury  Between  3.15  p.  m.  and  9.15 
p0  m.  on  the  Day  Preceding  His  Murder  ? 


CHAPTER  TEN 


THE  LEATHER  BOX 

"Whether  Spargo  was  sanguine  enough  to  expect  that 
his  staring  headline  would  bring  him  information  of  the 
sort  he  wanted  was  a  secret  which  he  kept  to  himself. 
That  a  good  many  thousands  of  human  beings  must  have 
set  eyes  on  John  Marbury  between  the  hours  which 
Spargo  set  forth  in  that  headline  was  certain ;  the  prob- 
lem was — What  particular  owner  or  owners  of  a  pair  or 
of  many  pairs  of  those  eyes  would  remember  him  ?  Why 
should  they  remember  him?  Walters  and  his  wife  had 
reason  to  remember  him ;  Criedir  had  reason  to  remember 
him ;  so  had  Myerst ;  so  had  William  Webster.  But  be- 
tween a  quarter  past  three,  when  he  left  the  London 
and  Universal  Safe  Deposit,  and  a  quarter  past  nine, 
when  he  sat  down  by  Webster's  side  in  the  lobby  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  nobody  seemed  to  have  any  recollec- 
tion of  him  except  Mr.  Fiskie,  the  hatter,  and  he  only 
remembered  him  faintly,  and  because  Marbury  had 
bought  a  fashionable  cloth  cap  at  his  shop.  At  any 
rate,  by  noon  of  that  day,  nobody  had  come  forward 
with  any  recollection  of  him.  He  must  have  gone  West 
from  seeing  Myerst,  because  he  bought  his  cap  at 
Fiskie 's;  he  must  eventually  have  gone  South-West,  be- 
cause he  turned  up  at  Westminster.    But  where  else  did 

89 


90      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


he  go  ?  What  did  he  do  ?  To  whom  did  he  speak  ?  No 
answer  came  to  these  questions. 

"That  shows,"  observed  young  Mr.  Ronald  Breton, 
lazing  an  hour  away  in  Spargo 's  room  at  the  Watchman 
at  that  particular  hour  which  is  neither  noon  nor  after- 
noon, wherein  even  busy  men  do  nothing,  "that  shows 
how  a  chap  can  go  about  London  as  if  he  were  merely  an 
ant  that  had  strayed  into  another  ant-heap  than  his 
own.    Nobody  notices." 

"You'd  better  go  and  read  up  a  little  elementary  en- 
tomology, Breton,"  said  Spargo.  "I  don't  know  much 
about  it  myself,  but  I've  a  pretty  good  idea  that  when 
an  ant  walks  into  the  highways  and  byways  of  a  colony 
to  which  he  doesn't  belong  he  doesn't  survive  his  intru- 
sion by  many  seconds." 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Breton.  "Lon- 
don's an  ant-heap,  isn't  it?  One  human  ant  more  or 
less  doesn't  count.  This  man  Marbury  must  have  gone 
about  a  pretty  tidy  lot  during  those  six  hours.  He'd 
ride  on  a  'bus — almost  certain.  He'd  get  into  a  taxi- 
cab — I  think  that's  much  more  certain,  because  it  would 
be  a  novelty  to  him.  He'd  want  some  tea — anyway, 
he'd  be  sure  to  want  a  drink,  and  he'd  turn  in  somewhere 
to  get  one  or  the  other.  He'd  buy  things  in  shops — ■ 
these  Colonials  always  do.  He'd  go  somewhere  to  get 
his  dinner.  He'd — but  what's  the  use  of  enumeration  in 
this  case?" 

"A  mere  piling  up  of  platitudes,"  answered  Spargo. 

"What  I  mean  is,"  continued  Breton,  "that  piles  of 
people  must  have  seen  him,  and  yet  it's  now  hours  and 
hours  since  your  paper  came  out  this  morning,  and  no- 


THE  LEATHER  BOX  91 


body's  come  forward  to  tell  anything.  And  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  why  should  they?  "Who'd  remem- 
ber an  ordinary  man  in  a  grey  tweed  suit  ? ' 1 

"  4  An  ordinary  man  in  a  grey  tweed  suit/  99  repeated 
Spargo.  "Good  line.  You  haven't  any  copyright  in 
it,  remember.    It  would  make  a  good  cross-heading.' 9 

Breton  laughed.  "You're  a  queer  chap,  Spargo,"  he 
said.  "Seriously,  do  you  think  you're  getting  any 
nearer  anything?" 

"I'm  getting  nearer  something  with  everything  that's 
done,"  Spargo  answered.  "You  can't  start  on  a  busi- 
ness like  this  without  evolving  something  out  of  it,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Breton,  "to  me  there's  not  so  much 
mystery  in  it.  Mr.  Aylmore 's  explained  the  reason  why 
my  address  was  found  on  the  body;  Criedir,  the  stamp- 
man,  has  explained  " 

Spargo  suddenly  looked  up. 

"What?"  he  said  sharply. 

"Why,  the  reason  of  Marbury's  being  found  where 
he  wras  found,"  replied  Breton.  "Of  course,  I  see  it  all ! 
Marbury  was  mooning  around  Fleet  Street;  he  slipped 
into  Middle  Temple  Lane,  late  as  it  was,  just  to  see 
vhere  old  Cardlestone  hangs  out,  and  he  was  set  upon 
and  done  for.  The  thing's  plain  to  me.  The  only  thing 
now  is  to  find  who  did  it." 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  agreed  Spargo.  "That's  it."  He 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  diary  which  lay  on  his  desk. 
"By  the  by,"  he  said,  looking  up  with  some  interest, 
"the  adjourned  inquest  is  at  eleven  o'clock  tomorrow 
morning.    Are  you  going?" 


92       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"I  shall  certainly  go,"  answered  Breton.  "What's 
more,  I'm  going  to  take  Miss  Aylmore  and  her  sister. 
As  the  gruesome  details  were  over  at  the  first  sitting, 
and  as  there'll  be  nothing  but  this  new  evidence  to- 
morrow, and  as  they've  never  been  in  a  coroner's  court 


"Mr.  Aylmore '11  be  the  principal  witness  tomorrow," 
interrupted  Spargo.  "I  suppose  he'll  be  able  to  tell  a 
lot  more  than  he  told — me. ' ' 

Breton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  don't  see  that  there's  much  more  to  tell,"  he  said. 
"But,"  he  added,  with  a  sly  laugh,  "I  suppose  you  want 
some  more  good  copy,  eh  ? " 

Spargo  glanced  at  his  watch,  rose,  and  picked  up  his 
hat.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I  want,"  he  said.  "I  want  to 
know  who  John  Marbury  was.  That  would  make  good 
copy.  Who  he  was — twenty — twenty-five — forty  years 
ago.  Eh?" 

"  And  you  think  Mr.  Aylmore  can  tell?"  asked  Breton. 

"Mr.  Aylmore,"  answered  Spargo  as  they  walked  to- 
wards the  door,  "is  the  only  person  I  have  met  so  far 
who  has  admitted  that  he  knew  John  Marbury  in  the 
— past.  But  he  didn't  tell  me — much.  Perhaps  he'll 
tell  the  coroner  and  his  jury — more.  Now,  I'm  o£. 
Breton — I've  an  appointment." 

And  leaving  Breton  to  find  his  own  way  out,  Spargo 
hurried  away,  jumped  into  a  taxi-cab  and  speeded  to  the 
London  and  Universal  Safe  Deposit.  At  the  corner  of 
its  building  he  found  Rathbury  awaiting  him. 

"Well?"  said  Spargo,  as  he  sprang  out:  "How  is 
it?" 


THE  LEATHER  BOX 


93 


8 'It's  all  right,"  answered  Eathbury.  "You  can  be 
present  :  I  got  the  necessary  permission.  As  there  are 
no  relations  known,  there'll  only  be  one  or  two  officials 
and  you,  and  the  Safe  Deposit  people,  and  myself. 
Come  on — it's  about  time." 

4 'It  sounds/'  observed  Spargo,  "like  an  exhumation." 

Eathbury  laughed.  "Well,  we're  certainly  going  to 
dig  up  a  dead  man's  secrets,"  he  said.  "At  least,  we 
may  be  going  to  do  so.  In  my  opinion,  Mr.  Spargo, 
we  '11  find  some  clue  in  this  leather  box. ' ' 

Spargo  made  no  answer.  They  entered  the  office,  to 
be  shown  into  a  room  where  were  already  assembled  Mr. 
Myerst,  a  gentleman  who  turned  out  to  be  the  chairman 
of  the  company,  and  the  officials  of  whom  Eathbury  had 
spoken.  And  in  another  moment  Spargo  heard  the 
chairman  explaining  that  the  company  possessed  dupli- 
cate keys  to  all  safes,  and  that  the  proper  authorization 
having  been  received  from  the  proper  authorities,  those 
present  would  now  proceed  to  the  safe  recently  tenanted 
by  the  late  Mr.  John  Marbury,  and  take  from  it  the 
property  which  he  himself  had  deposited  there,  a  small 
leather  box,  which  they  would  afterwards  bring  to 
that  room  and  cause  to  be  opened  in  each  other's  pres- 
ence. 

It  seemed  to  Spargo  that  there  was  an  unending  un- 
locking of  bolts  and  bars  before  he  and  his  fellow-pro- 
cessionists came  to  the  safe  so  recently  rented  by  the 
late  Mr.  John  Marbury,  now  undoubtedly  deceased. 
And  at  first  sight  of  it,  he  saw  that  it  was  so  small  a,n 
affair  that  it  seemed  ludicrous  to  imagine  that  it  could 
contain  anything  of  any  importance.    In  fact,  it  looked 


94       THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


to  be  no  more  than  a  plain  wooden  locker,  one  amongst 
many  in  a  small  strong  room:  it  reminded  Spargo  irre- 
sistibly of  the  locker  in  which,  in  his  school  days,  he  had 
kept  his  personal  belongings  and  the  jam  tarts,  sausage 
rolls,  and  hardbake  smuggled  in  from  the  tuck-shop. 
Marbury's  name  had  been  newly  painted  upon  it;  the 
paint  was  scarcely  dry.  But  when  the  wooden  door — 
the  front  door,  as  it  were,  of  this  temple  of  mystery, 
had  been  solemnly  opened  by  the  chairman,  a  formidable 
door  of  steel  was  revealed,  and  expectation  still  leapt 
in  the  bosoms  of  the  beholders. 

"The  duplicate  key,  Mr.  Myerst,  if  you  please,"  com- 
manded the  chairman,  "the  duplicate  key!" 

Myerst,  who  was  fully  as  solemn  as  his  principal,  pro- 
duced a  curious-looking  key:  the  chairman  lifted  his 
hand  as  if  he  were  about  to  christen  a  battleship:  the 
steel  door  swung  slowly  back.  And  there,  in  a  two-foot 
square  cavity,  lay  the  leather  box. 

It  struck  Spargo  as  they  filed  back  to  the  secretary's 
room  that  the  procession  became  more  funereal-like  than 
ever.  First  walked  the  chairman,  abreast  with  the  high 
official,  who  had  brought  the  necessary  authorization 
from  the  all-powerful  quarter;  then  came  Myerst  carry- 
ing the  box:  followed  two  other  gentlemen,  both  legal 
lights,  charged  with  watching  official  and  police  inter- 
ests; Rathbury  and  Spargo  brought  up  the  rear.  He 
whispered  something  of  his  notions  to  the  detective; 
Rathbury  nodded  a  comprehensive  understanding. 

"Let's  hope  we're  going  to  see — something!"  he  said. 

In  the  secretary's  room  a  man  waited  who  touched  his 
forelock  respectfully  as  the  heads  of  the  procession  en- 


THE  LEATHER  BOX 


95 


tered.  Myerst  set  the  box  on  the  table:  the  man  made 
a  musical  jingle  of  keys :  the  other  members  of  the  pro- 
cession gathered  round. 

' ' As  we  naturally  possess  no  key  to  this  box/'  an- 
nounced the  chairman  in  grave  tones,  "it  becomes  our 
duty  to  employ  professional  assistance  in  opening  it. 
Jobson!" 

He  waved  a  hand,  and  the  man  of  the  keys  stepped 
forward  with  alacrity.  He  examined  the  lock  of  the 
box  with  a  knowing  eye ;  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was 
anxious  to  fall  upon  it.  While  he  considered  matters, 
Spargo  looked  at  the  box.  It  was  pretty  much  what  it 
had  been  described  to  him  as  being ;  a  small,  square  box 
of  old  cow-hide,  very  strongly  made,  much  worn  and 
tarnished,  fitted  with  a  handle  projecting  from  the  lid, 
and  having  the  appearance  of  having  been  hidden  away 
somewhere  for  many  a  long  day. 

There  was  a  click,  a  spring:  Jobson  stepped  back. 

6 ' That's  it,  if  you  please,  sir,"  he  said. 

The  chairman  motioned  to  the  high  official. 

"If  you  would  be  good  enough  to  open  the  box,  sir," 
he  said.    ' 6  Our  duty  is  now  concluded. 7  1 

As  the  high  official  laid  his  hand  on  the  lid  the  other 
men  gathered  round  with  craning  necks  and  expectant 
eyes.  The  lid  was  lifted:  somebody  sighed  deeply. 
Ar.d  Spargo  pushed  his  own  head  and  eyes  nearer. 

The  box  was  empty! 

Empty,  as  anything  that  can  be  empty  is  empty! 
thought  Spargo :  there  was  literally  nothing  in  it.  They 
were  all  staring  into  the  interior  of  a  plain,  time-worn 
little  receptacle,  lined  out  with  old-fashioned  chintz 


96      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


stuff,  such  as  our  Mid- Victorian  fore-fathers  were  fa- 
miliar with,  and  containing — nothing. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  chairman. 
"This  is — dear  me! — why,  there  is  nothing  in  the  box!" 

"That,"  remarked  the  high  official,  drily,  "appears 
to  be  obvious." 

The  chairman  looked  at  the  secretary. 

"I  understood  the  box  was  valuable,  Mr.  Myerst,"  he 
said,  with  the  half-injured  air  of  a  man  who  considers 
himself  to  have  been  robbed  of  an  exceptionally  fine  treat. 
"Valuable!" 

Myerst  coughed. 

"I  can  only  repeat  what  I  have  already  said,  Sir 
Benjamin,"  he  answered.  "The — er  late  Mr.  Marbury 
spoke  of  the  deposit  as  being  of  great  value  to  him;  he 
never  permitted  it  out  of  his  hand  until  he  placed  it  in 
the  safe.  He  appeared  to  regard  it  as  of  the  greatest 
value. 1 9 

"But  we  understand  from  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Criedir, 
given  to  the  Watchman  newspaper,  that  it  was  full  of 
papers  and — and  other  articles,"  said  the  chairman. 
"Criedir  saw  papers  in  it  about  an  hour  before  it  was 
brought  here." 

Myerst  spread  out  his  hands. 

"I  can  only  repeat  what  I  have  said,  Sir  Benjamin," 
he  answered.    "I  know  nothing  more." 

"But  why  should  a  man  deposit  an  empty  box?"  be- 
gan the  chairman.    "I  " 

The  high  official  interposed. 

"  That  the  box  is  empty  is  certain,"  he  observed. 
"Did  you  ever  handle  it  yourself,  Mr.  Myerst?" 


THE  LEATHER  BOX 


97 


Myerst  smiled  in  a  superior  fashion. 

"I  have  already  observed,  sir,  that  from  the  time  the 
deceased  entered  this  room  until  the  moment  he  placed 
the  box  in  the  safe  which  he  rented,  the  box  was  never 
out  of  his  hands, ' ?  he  replied. 

Then  there  was  silence.  At  last  the  high  official 
turned  to  the  chairman. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  " We've  made  the  enquiry. 
Eathbury,  take  the  box  away  with  you  and  lock  it  up 
at  the  Yard." 

So  Spargo  went  out  with  Eathbury  and  the  box ;  and 
saw  excellent,  if  mystifying,  material  for  the  article 
which  had  already  become  the  daily  feature  of  his  paper. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 


MR.  AYLMOEE  IS  QUESTIONED 

It  seemed  to  Spargo  as  lie  sat  listening  to  the  proceed- 
ings at  the  adjourned  inquest  next  day  that  the  whole 
story  of  what  was  now  world-famous  as  the  Middle 
Temple  Murder  Case  was  being  reiterated  before  him  for 
the  thousandth  time.  There  was  not  a  detail  of  the 
story  with  which  he  had  not  become  familiar  to  fulness. 
The  first  proceeding  before  the  coroner  had  been  of  a 
merely  formal  nature ;  these  were  thorough  and  exhaus- 
tive; the  representative  of  the  Crown  and  twelve  good 
men  and  true  of  the  City  of  London  were  there  to  hear 
and  to  find  out  and  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion  as  to  how 
the  man  known  as  John  Marbury  came  by  his  death. 
And  although  he  knew  all  about  it,  Spargo  found  him- 
self tabulating  the  evidence  in  a  professional  manner, 
and  noting  how  each  successive  witness  contributed,  as 
it  were,  a  chapter  to  the  story.  The  story  itself  ran 
quite  easily,  naturally,  consecutively — you  could  make  it 
in  sections.  And  Spargo,  sitting  merely  to  listen,  made 
them : 

1.  The  Temple  porter  and  Constable  Driscoll  proved 

the  finding  of  the  body. 

2.  The  police  surgeon  testified  as  to  the  cause  of 

death — the  man  had  been  struck  down  from  be- 

98 


MR.  AYLMORE  IS  QUESTIONED  99 


hind  by  a  blow,  a  terrible  blow — from  some  heavy 
instrument,  and  had  died  immediately. 

3.  The  police  and  the  mortuary  officials  proved  that 

when  the  body  was  examined  nothing  was  found 
in  the  clothing  but  the  now  famous  scrap  of  grey 
paper. 

4.  Rathbury  proved  that  by  means  of  the  dead  man's 

new  fashionable  cloth  cap,  bought  at  Fiskie's 
well-known  shop  in  the  West-End,  he  traced 
Marbury  to  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel  in  the  Water- 
loo District. 

5.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walters  gave  evidence  of  the  arrival 

of  Marbury  at  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel,  and  of  his 
doings  while  he  was  in  and  about  there. 

6.  The  purser  of  the  ss.  Wamharino  proved  that  Mar- 

bury sailed  from  Melbourne  to  Southampton  on 
that  ship,  excited  no  remark,  behaved  himself  like 
any  other  well-regulated  passenger,  and  left  the 
Wamharino  at  Southampton  early  in  the  morn- 
ing of  what  was  to  be  the  last  day  of  his  life  in 
just  the  ordinary  manner. 

7.  Mr.  Criedir  gave  evidence  of  his  rencontre  with 

Marbury  in  the  matter  of  the  stamps. 

8.  Mr.  Myerst  told  of  Marbury 's  visit  to  the  Safe  De- 

posit, and  further  proved  that  the  box  which  he 
placed  there  proved,  on  official  examination,  to 
be  empty. 

9o  William  Webster  re-told  the  story  of  his  encounter 
with  Marbury  in  one  of  the  vestibules  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  of  his  witnessing  the 
meeting  between  him  and  the  gentleman  whom. 


JOO     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


he  (Webster)  now  knew  to  be  Mr.  Aylmore,  a 

Member  of  Parliament. 
All  this  led  up  to  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Aylmore,  M.P., 
in  the  witness-box.  And  Spargo  knew  and  felt  that  it 
was  that  appearance  for  which  the  crowded  court  was 
waiting.  Thanks  to  his  own  vivid  and  realistic  specials 
in  the  Watchman,  everybody  there  had  already  become 
well  and  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  mass  of  evi- 
dence represented  by  the  nine  witnesses  who  had  been 
in  the  box  before  Mr.  Aylmore  entered  it.  They  wTere 
familiar,  too,  with  the  facts  which  Mr.  Aylmore  had  per- 
mitted Spargo  to  print  after  the  interview  at  the  club, 
which  Ronald  Breton  arranged.  Why,  then,  the  ex- 
traordinary interest  which  the  Member  of  Parliament  's 
appearance  aroused?  For  everybody  was  extraordinar- 
ily interested;  from  the  Coroner  downwards  to  the  last 
man  who  had  managed  to  squeeze  himself  into  the  last 
available  inch  of  the  public  gallery,  all  who  were  there 
wanted  to  hear  and  see  the  man  who  met  Marbury  un- 
der such  dramatic  circumstances,  and  who  went  to  his 
hotel  with  him,  hobnobbed  with  him,  gave  him  advice, 
walked  out  of  the  hotel  with  him  for  a  stroll  from  which 
Marbury  never  returned.  Spargo  knew  well  why  the  in- 
terest was  so  keen — everybody  knew  that  Aylmore  was 
the  only  man  who  could  tell  the  court  anything  really 
pertinent  about  Marbury;  who  he  was,  what  he  was 
after;  what  his  life  had  been. 

He  looked  round  the  court  as  the  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment entered  the  witness-box — a  tall,  handsome,  per- 
fectly-groomed man,  whose  beard  was  only  slightly  tinged 
with  grey,  whose  figure  was  as  erect  as  a  well-drilled 


MR.  AYLMORE  IS  QUESTIONED  101 

soldier's,  who  carried  about  him  an  air  of  conscious 
power.  Aylmore 's  two  daughters  sat  at  a  little  distance 
away,  opposite  Spargo,  with  Ronald  Breton  in  attendance 
upon  them;  Spargo  had  encountered  their  glance  as 
they  entered  the  court,  and  they  had  given  him  a  friendly 
nod  and  smile.  He  had  watched  them  from  time  to 
time;  it  was  plain  to  him  that  they  regarded  the  whole 
affair  as  a  novel  sort  of  entertainment ;  they  might  have 
been  idlers  in  some  Eastern  bazaar,  listening  to  the  un- 
folding of  many  tales  from  the  professional  tale-tellers. 
Now,  as  their  father  entered  the  box,  Spargo  looked  at 
them  again;  he  saw  nothirg  more  than  a  little  heighten- 
ing of  colour  in  their  cheeks,  a  little  brightening  of 
their  eyes. 

"All  that  they  feel,"  he  thought,  "is  a  bit  of  extra 
excitement  at  the  idea  that  their  father  is  mixed  up  in 
this  delightful  mystery.  Um!  Well — now  how  much 
is  he  mixed  up?" 

And  he  turned  to  the  witness-box  and  from  that  mo- 
ment never  took  his  eyes  off  the  man  who  now  stood  in 
it.  For  Spargo  had  ideas  about  the  witness  which  he 
was  anxious  to  develop. 

The  folk  who  expected  something  immediately  sensa- 
tional in  Mr.  Aylmore  \s  evidence  were  disappointed. 
Aylmore,  having  been  sworn,  and  asked  a  question  or 
two  by  the  Coroner,  requested  permission  to  tell,  in  his 
own  way,  what  he  knew  of  the  dead  man  and  of  this 
sad  affair ;  and  having  received  that  permission,  he  went 
on  in  a  calm,  unimpassioned  manner  to  repeat  precisely 
what  he  had  told  Spargo.  It  sounded  a  very  plain, 
ordinary  story.    He  had  known  Marbury  many  years 


102     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


ago.  He  had  lost  sight  of  him  for — oh,  quite  twenty 
years.  He  had  met  him  accidentally  in  one  of  the  vesti- 
bules of  the  House  of  Commons  on  the  evening  preced- 
ing the  murder.  Marbury  had  asked  his  advice.  Hav- 
ing no  particular  duty,  and  willing  to  do  an  old  ac- 
quaintance* a  good  turn,  he  had  gone  back  to  the  Anglo- 
Orient  Hotel  with  Marbury,  had  remained  awhile  with 
him  in  his  room,  examining  his  Australian  diamonds, 
and  had  afterwards  gone  out  with  him.  He  had  given 
him  the  advice  he  wanted;  they  had  strolled  across 
"Waterloo  Bridge;  shortly  afterwards  they  had  parted. 
That  was  ail  he  knew. 

The  court,  the  public,  Spargo,  everybody  there,  knew 
all  this  already.  It  had  been  in  print,  under  a  big 
headline,  in  the  Watchman.  Aylmore  had  now  told  it 
again;  having  told  it,  he  seemed  to  consider  that  his 
next  step  was  to  leave  the  box  and  the  court,  and  after 
a  perfunctory  question  or  two  from  the  Coroner  and  the 
foreman  of  the  jury  he  made  a  motion  as  if  to  step  down. 
But  Spargo,  who  had  been  aware  since  the  beginning  of 
the  enquiry  of  the  presence  of  a  certain  eminent  counsel 
who  represented  the  Treasury,  cocked  his  eye  in  that 
gentleman's  direction,  and  was  not  surprised  to  see  him 
rise  in  his  well-known,  apparently  indifferent  fashion, 
fix  his  monocle  in  his  right  eye,  and  glance  at  the  tall 
figure  in  the  witness-box. 

"The  fun  is  going  to  begin,"  muttered  Spargo. 

The  Treasury  representative  looked  from  Aylmore  to 
the  Coroner  and  made  a  jerky  bow;  from  the  Coroner 
to  Aylmore  and  straightened  himself.  He  looked  like 
a  man  who  is  going  to  ask  indifferent  questions  about  the 


£       MR.  AYLMORE  IS  QUESTIONED  103 

state  of  the  weather,  or  how  Smith's  wife  was  last  time 
you  heard  of  her,  or  if  stocks  are  likely  to  rise  or  fall. 
But  Spargo  had  heard  this  man  before,  and  he  knew 
many  signs  of  his  in  voice  and  manner  and  glance. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  Mr.  Aylmore, 
about  your  acquaintanceship  with  the  dead  man.  It 
was  an  acquaintanceship  of  some  time  ago?"  began  the 
suave,  seemingly  careless  voice. 

"A  considerable  time  ago,"  answered  Aylmore. 

"How  long — roughly  speaking?" 

"I  should  say  from  twenty  to  twenty-two  or  three 
years." 

"Never  saw  him  during  that  time  until  you  met  ac- 
cidentally in  the  way  you  have  described  to  us  ? " 
"Never." 

"Ever  heard  from  him?" 
"No." 

"Ever  heard  of  him?" 
"No." 

"But  when  you  met,  you  knew  each  other  at  once?" 
"Well — almost  at  once." 

"Almost  at  once.  Then,  I  take  it,  you  were  very  well 
known  to  each  other  twenty  or  twenty-two  years  ago  ? ' ' 

"We  were — yes,  well  known  to  each  other." 

"Close  friends?" 

"I  said  we  were  acquaintances." 

"Acquaintances.  What  was  his  name  when  you  knew 
him  at  that  time?" 

1 1  His  name  ?    It  was — Marbury . 9  9 

"Marbury — the  same  name.  Where  did  you  know 
him?" 


104     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"I — oh,  here  in  London." 
"What  was  he!" 

"Do  you  mean — what  was  his  occupation?" 
6 1  "What  was  his  occupation  ? ' ' 

"I  believe  he  was  concerned  in  financial  matters." 
"Concerned  in  financial  matters.    Had  you  dealings 
with  him?" 

"Well,  yes — on  occasions." 

"What  was  his  business  address  in  London?" 

' •  I  can 't  remember  that. ' ' 

"What  was  his  private  address?" 

"That  I  never  knew." 

"Where  did  you  transact  your  business  with  him?" 
"Well,  we  met,  now  and  then." 
"Where?    What  place,  office,  resort?" 
"I  can't  remember  particular  places.  Sometimes— 
in  the  City." 

"In  the  City.  Where  in  the  City?  Mansion  House, 
or  Lombard  Street,  or  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  or  the 
Old  Bailey,  or  where?" 

' 6 1  have  recollections  of  meeting  him  outside  the  Stock 
Exchange." 

"  Oh  !    Was  he  a  member  of  that  institution  ? ' ' 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Were  you?" 

"Certainly  not!" 

"What  were  the  dealings  that  you  had  with  him?" 
"Financial  dealings — small  ones." 
"How  loi>g  did  your  acquaintanceship  with  him  last 
— w^at  period  did  it  extend  over?" 

j'I  should  say  about  six  months  to  nine  months." 


MR.  AYLMORE  IS  QUESTIONED  105 


"No  more?" 

u Certainly  no  more." 

"It  was  quite  a  slight  acquaintanceship,  then?" 
"Oh,  quite!" 

4  4  And  yet,  after  losing  sight  of  this  merely  slight  ac- 
quaintance for  over  twenty  years,  you,  on  meeting  him, 
take  great  interest  in  him?" 

6  i  Well,  I  was  willing  to  do  him  a  good  turn,  I  was  in- 
terested in  what  he  told  me  the  other  evening." 

"I  see.  Now  you  will  not  object  to  my  asking  you  a 
personal  question  or  two.  You  are  a  public  man,  and 
the  facts  about  the  lives  of  public  men  are  more  or  less 
public  property.  You  are  represented  in  this  work  of 
popular  reference  as  coming  to  this  country  in  1902, 
from  Argentina,  where  you  made  a  considerable  fortune. 
You  have  told  us,  however,  that  you  were  in  London, 
acquainted  with  Marbury,  about  the  years,  say  1890  to 
1892.  Did  you  then  leave  England  soon  after  knowing 
Marbury?" 

"I  did.  I  left  England  in  1891  or  1892—1  am  not 
sure  which." 

"We  are  wanting  to  be  very  sure  about  this  matter, 
Mr.  Aylmore.  We  want  to  solve  the  important  ques- 
tion— who  is,  who  was  John  Marbury,  and  how  did  he 
come  by  his  death  ?  You  seem  to  be  the  only  available 
person  who  knows  anything  about  him.  What  was  your 
business  before  you  left  England?" 

"I  was  interested  in  financial  affairs." 

"Like  Marbury.  Where  did  you  carry  on  your  busi- 
ness?" 

4 'In  London,  of  course." 


106     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"At  what  address?" 

For  some  moments  Aylmore  had  been  growing  more 
and  more  restive.  His  brow  had  flushed ;  his  moustache 
had  begun  to  twitch.  And  now  he  squared  his  shoulders 
and  faced  his  questioner  defiantly. 

"I  resent  these  questions  about  my  private  affairs!'9 
he  snapped  out. 

"Possibly.  But  I  must  put  them.  I  repeat  my  last 
question. " 

"And  I  refuse  to  answer  it." 

"Then  I  ask  you  another.  "Where  did  you  live  in  Lon- 
don at  the  time  you  are  telling  us  of,  when  you  knew 
John  Marbury?" 

"I  refuse  to  answer  that  question  also!" 

The  Treasury  Counsel  sat  down  and  looked  at  the 
Coroner. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 


THE  NEW  WITNESS 

The  voice  of  the  Coroner,  bland,  suave,  deprecating, 
broke  the  silence.    He  was  addressing  the  witness. 

"I  am  sure,  Mr.  Aylmore,"  he  said,  " there  is  no  wish 
to  trouble  you  with  unnecessary  questions.  But  we  are 
here  to  get  at  the  truth  of  this  matter  of  John  Marbury's 
death,  and  as  you  are  the  only  witness  we  have  had  who 
knew  him  personally  " 

Aylmore  turned  impatiently  to  the  Coroner. 

"I  have  every  wish  to  respect  your  authority,  sir!" 
he  exclaimed.  "  And  I  have  told  you  all  that  I  know  of 
Marbury  and  of  what  happened  when  I  met  him  the 
other  evening.  But  I  resent  being  questioned  on  my  pri- 
vate affairs  of  twenty  years  ago — I  very  much  resent 
it !  Any  question  that  is  really  pertinent  I  will  answer, 
but  I  will  not  answer  questions  that  seem  to  me  wholly 
foreign  to  the  scope  of  this  enquiry/' 

The  Treasury  Counsel  rose  again.  His  manner  had 
become  of  the  quietest,  and  Spargo  again  became  keenly 
attentive. 

"Perhaps  I  can  put  a  question  or  two  to  Mr.  Aylmore 
which  will  not  yield  him  offence,"  he  remarked  drily. 
He  turned  once  more  to  the  witness,  regarding  him  as 
if  with  interest,   "Can  you  tell  us  of  any  person  now 

107 


108     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


living  who  knew  Marbury  in  London  at  the  time  under 
discussion — twenty  to  twenty-two  or  three  years  ago?" 
he  asked. 

Aylmore  shook  his  head  angrily. 

"No,  I  can't,"  he  replied. 

"And  yet  you  and  he  must  have  had  several  business 
acquaintances  at  that  time  who  knew  you  both  ? ' ' 

"Possibly — at  that  time.  But  when  I  returned  to 
England  my  business  and  my  life  lay  in  different  direc- 
tions to  those  of  that  time.  I  don't  know  of  anybody 
who  knew  Marbury  then — anybody." 

The  Counsel  turned  to  a  clerk  who  sat  behind  him, 
whispered  to  him ;  Spargo  saw  the  clerk  make  a  sidelong 
motion  of  his  head  towards  the  door  of  the  court.  The 
Counsel  looked  again  at  the  witness. 

' '  One  more  question.  You  told  the  court  a  little  time 
since  that  you  parted  with  Marbury  on  the  evening 
preceding  his  death  at  the  end  of  Waterloo  Bridge — 
at,  I  think  you  said,  a  quarter  to  twelve." 

"About  that  time." 

"And  at  that  place?" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  all  I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Aylmore — just 
now,"  said  the  Counsel.  He  turned  to  the  Coroner. 
"I  am  going  to  ask  you,  sir,  at  this  point  to  call  a  wit- 
ness who  has  volunteered  certain  evidence  to  the  police 
authorities  this  morning.  That  evidence  is  of  a  very 
important  nature,  and  I  think  that  this  is  the  stage  at 
which  it  ought  to  be  given  to  you  and  the  jury.  If  you 
would  be  pleased  to  direct  that  David  Lyell  be  called 


THE  NEW  WITNESS 


109 


Spargo  turned  instinctively  to  the  door,  having  seen 
the  clerk  who  had  sat  behind  the  Treasury  Counsel  make 
his  way  there.  There  came  into  view,  ushered  by  the 
clerk,  a  smart-looking,  alert,  self-confident  young  man, 
evidently  a  Scotsman,  who,  on  the  name  of  David  Lyell 
being  called,  stepped  jauntily  and  readily  into  the  place 
which  the  member  of  Parliament  just  vacated.  He  took 
the  oath — Scotch  fashion — with  the  same  readiness  and 
turned  easily  to  the  Treasury  Counsel.  And  Spargo, 
glancing  quickly  round,  saw  that  the  court  was  breath- 
less with  anticipation,  and  that  its  anticipation  was  that 
the  new  witness  was  going  to  tell  something  which  re- 
lated to  the  evidence  just  given  by  Aylmore. 

"Your  name  is  David  Lyell?" 

"That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"And  you  reside  at  23,  Cumbrae  Side,  Kilmarnock, 
Scotland?" 
"I  do." 

"What  are  you,  Mr.  Lyell?" 

"Traveller,  sir,  for  the  firm  of  Messrs.  Stevenson, 
Robertson  &  Soutar,  distillers,  of  Kilmarnock." 

"Your  duties  take  you,  I  think,  over  to  Paris  occa- 
sionally?" 

* 1  They  do — once  every  six  weeks  I  go  to  Paris. 9  9 
"On  the  evening  of  June  21st  last  were  you  in  Lon- 
don on  your  way  to  Paris?" 
"I  was." 

"I  believe  you  stayed  at  De  Keyser's  Hotel,  at  the 
Blackfriars  end  of  the  Embankment?" 

1 '  I  did — it  ?s  handy  for  the  continental  trains. 9  9 
"About  half-past  eleven,  or  a  little  later,  that  evening, 


110     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


did  you  go  along  the  Embankment,  on  the  Temple  Gar- 
dens side,  for  a  walk?" 

"I  did,  sir.  I'm  a  bad  sleeper,  and  it's  a  habit  of  mine 
to  take  a  walk  of  half  an  hour  or  so  last  thing  before  I 
go  to  bed. ' ' 

' ' How  far  did  you  walk?" 

"As  far  as  "Waterloo  Bridge." 

"Always  on  the  Temple  side?" 

"Just  so,  sir — straight  along  on  that  side." 

"Very  good.  When  you  got  close  to  Waterloo  Bridge, 
did  you  meet  anybody  you  knew?" 

"Yes." 

"Who?" 

"Mr.  Aylmore,  the  Member  of  Parliament." 

Spargo  could  not  avoid  a  glance  at  the  two  sisters. 
The  elder's  head  was  averted;  the  younger  was  staring 
at  the  witness  steadily.  And  Breton  was  nervously  tap- 
ping his  fingers  on  the  crown  of  his  shining  silk  hat. 

"Mr.  Aylmore,  the  Member  of  Parliament,"  repeated 
the  Counsel's  suave,  clear  tones.  "Oh!  And  how  did 
you  come  to  recognize  Mr.  Aylmore,  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment?" 

"Well,  sir,  in  this  way.  At  home,  I'm  the  secretary 
of  our  Liberal  Ward  Club,  and  last  year  we  had  a  dem- 
onstration, and  it  fell  to  me  to  arrange  with  the  prin- 
cipal speakers.  I  got  Mr.  Aylmore  to  come  and  speak, 
and  naturally  I  met  him  several  times,  in  London  and  in 
Scotland." 

"So  that  you  knew  him  quite  well?" 

"Oh  yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  see  him  now,  Mr.  Lyell?" 


THE  NEW  WITNESS 


111 


Lyell  smiled  and  half  turned  in  the  box. 
"Why,  of  course !"  he  answered.    "There  is  Mr.  Ayl- 
more." 

"There  is  Mr.  Aylmore.  Very  good.  Now  we  go  on. 
You  met  Mr.  Aylmore  close  to  Waterloo  Bridge  ?  How 
close?" 

"Well,  sir,  to  be  exact,  Mr.  Aylmore  came  down  the 
steps  from  the  bridge  on  to  the  Embankment. ' 9 
"Alone?" 
"No." 

"Who  was  with  him?" 

"A  man,  sir." 

"Did  you  know  the  man?" 

"No.  But  seeing  who  he  was  with,  I  took  a  good 
look  at  him.    I  haven't  forgotten  his  face." 

"You  haven't  forgotten  his  face.  Mr.  Lyell — has  any- 
thing recalled  that  face  to  you  within  this  last  day  or 
two?" 

"Yes,  sir,  indeed!" 

"What?" 

"The  picture  of  the  man  they  say  was  murdered — 
John  Marbury." 

"You're  sure  of  that?" 

"I'm  as  certain,  sir,  as  that  my  name's  what  it  is." 

"It  is  your  belief  that  Mr.  Aylmore,  when  you  met 
him,  was  accompanied  by  the  man  who,  according  to  the 
photographs,  was  John  Marbury?" 

"It  is,  sir!" 

"Very  well.  Now,  having  seen  Mr.  Aylmore  and  his 
companion,  what  did  you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  just  turned  and  walked  after  them." 


112     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"You  walked  after  them?  They  were  going  east- 
ward, then  ?" 

"They  were  walking  by  the  way  I'd  come." 

"You  followed  them  eastward ?" 

"I  did — I  was  going  back  to  the  hotel,  you  see.'9 

"What  were  they  doing ?" 

"Talking  uncommonly  earnestly,  sir." 

i 6  How  far  did  you  follow  them  ? 1 ' 

"'I  followed  them  until  they  came  to  the  Embank- 
ment lodge  of  Middle  Temple  Lane,  sir." 

"And  then?" 

"Why,  sir,  they  turned  in  there,  and  I  went  straight 
on  to  De  Keyser's,  and  to  my  bed." 

There  was  a  deeper  silence  in  court  at  that  moment 
than  at  any  other  period  of  the  long  day,  and  it  grew 
still  deeper  when  the  quiet,  keen  voice  put  the  next  ques- 
tion. 

"You  swear  on  your  oath  that  you  saw  Mr.  Aylmore 
take  his  companion  into  thz  Temple  by  the  Embankment 
entrance  of  Middle  Tempie  Lane  on  the  occasion  in 
question?" 

"I  do!    I  could  swear  no  other,  sir." 

"Can  you  tell  us,  as  near  as  possible,  what  time  that 
would  be?" 

"Yes.  It  was,  to  a  minute  or  so,  about  five  minutes 
past  twelve." 

The  Treasury  Counsel  nodded  to  the  Coroner,  and 
the  Coroner,  after  a  whispered  conference  with  the 
foreman  of  the  jury,  looked  at  the  witness. 

"You  have  only  just  given  this  information  to  the 
police,  I  understand?"  he  said. 


THE  NEW  WITNESS 


113 


"Yes,  sir.  I  have  been  in  Paris,  and  in  Amiens,  and 
I  only  returned  by  this  morning's  boat.  As  soon  as  I 
had  read  all  the  news  in  the  papers — the  English  papers 
— and  seen  the  dead  man's  photographs  I  determined  to 
tell  the  police  what  I  knew,  and  I  went  to  New  Scot- 
land Yard  as  soon  as  I  got  to  London  this  morning. ' ' 

Nobody  else  wanted  to  ask  Mr.  David  Lyell  any  ques- 
tions, and  he  stepped  down.  And  Mr.  Aylmore  sud- 
denly came  forward  again,  seeking  the  Coroner's  atten- 
tion. 

"May  i  be  allowed  to  make  an  explanation,  sir?"  he 
began.    "I  " 

But  the  Treasury  Counsel  was  on  his  feet,  this  time 
stern  and  implacable.  "I  would  point  out,  sir,  that 
you  have  had  Mr.  Aylmore  in  the  box,  and  that  he  was 
not  then  at  all  ready  to  give  explanations,  or  even  to 
answer  questions/'  he  said.  "And  before  you  allow 
him  to  make  any  explanation  now,  I  ask  you  to  hear 
another  witness  whom  I  wish  to  interpose  at  this  stage. 
That  witness  is  " 

Mr.  Aylmore  turned  almost  angrily  to  the  Coroner. 

"After  the  evidence  of  the  last  witness,  I  think  I  have 
a  right  to  be  heard  at  once!"  he  said  with  emphasis. 
"As  matters  stand  at  present,  it  looks  as  if  I  had  trifled, 
sir,  with  you  and  the  jury,  whereas  if  I  am  allowed  to 
make  an  explanation  " 

"I  must  respectfully  ask  that  before  Mr.  Aylmore  is 
allowed  to  make  any  explanation,  the  witness  I  have 
referred  to  is  heard, ' '  said  the  Treasury  Counsel  sternly. 
"There  are  weighty  reasons." 

"I  am  afraid  you  must  wait  a  little,  Mr.  Aylmore,  if 


114     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


you  wish  to  give  an  explanation, 1 9  said  the  Coroner.  He 
turned  to  the  Counsel.  "Who  is  this  other  witness?" 
he  asked. 

Aylmore  stepped  back.  And  Spargo  noticed  that  the 
younger  of  his  two  daughters  was  staring  at  him  with 
an  anxious  expression.  There  was  no  distrust  of  her 
father  in  her  face;  she  was  anxious.  She,  too,  slowly 
turned  to  the  next  witness.  This  man  was  the  porter 
of  the  Embankment  lodge  of  Middle  Temple  Lane. 
The  Treasury  Counsel  put  a  straight  question  to  him  at 
once. 

"You  see  that  gentleman/'  he  said,  pointing  to  Ayl- 
more.   "Do  you  know  him  as  an  inmate  of  the  Temple?" 

The  man  stared  at  Aylmore,  evidently  confused. 

"Why,  certainly,  sir!"  he  answered.  "Quite  well, 
sir." 

"Very  good.  And  now — what  name  do  you  know 
him  by?" 

The  man  grew  evidently  more  bewildered. 
"Name,  sir.   Why,  Mr.  Anderson,  sir!"  he  replied. 
"Mr.  Anderson!" 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 


UNDER  SUSPICION 

A  distinct,  uncontrollable  murmur  of  surprise  ran 
round  the  packed  court  as  this  man  in  the  witness-box 
gave  this  answer.  It  signified  many  things- — that  there 
were  people  present  who  had  expected  some  such  dra- 
matic development;  that  there  were  others  present  who 
had  not;  that  the  answer  itself  was  only  a  prelude  to 
further  developments.  And  Spargo,  looking  narrowly 
about  him,  saw  that  the  answer  had  aroused  different 
feelings  in  Aylmore's  two  daughters.  The  elder  one  had 
dropped  her  face  until  it  was  quite  hidden ;  the  younger 
was  sitting  bolt  upright,  staring  at  her  father  in  utter 
and  genuine  bewilderment.  And  for  the  first  time,  Ayl- 
more  made  no  response  to  her. 

But  the  course  of  things  was  going  steadily  forward. 
There  was  no  stopping  the  Treasury  Counsel  now;  he 
was  going  to  get  at  some  truth  in  his  own  merciless  fash- 
ion. He  had  exchanged  one  glance  with  the  Coroner, 
had  whispered  a  word  to  the  solicitor  who  sat  close  by 
him,  and  now  he  turned  again  to  the  witness. 

"So  you  know  that  gentleman — make  sure  now — as 
Mr.  Anderson,  an  inmate  of  the  Temple?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  don't  know  him  by  any  other  name?" 

115 


116     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"No,  sir,  I  don't." 

"How  long  have  you  known  him  by  that  name?" 
"I  should  say  two  or  three  years,  sir." 
"See  him  go  in  and  out  regularly?" 
"No,  sir — not  regularly." 
"How  often,  then?" 

"Now  and  then,  sir — perhaps  once  a  week." 
"Tell  us  what  you  know  of  Mr.  Anderson's  goings- 
in-and-out." 

"Well,  sir,  I  might  see  him  two  nights  running;  then 
I  mightn't  see  him  again  for  perhaps  a  week  or  two. 
Irregular,  as  you  might  say,  sir." 

"You  say  'nights.'  Do  I  understand  that  you  never 
see  Mr.  Anderson  except  at  night?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I've  never  seen  him  except  at  night,  Al- 
ways about  the  same  time,  sir." 

"What  time?" 

"Just  about  midnight,  sir." 

"Very  well.    Do  you  remember  the  midnight  of  June 
21st-22nd?" 
"I  do,  sir." 

"Did  you  see  Mr.  Anderson  enter  then?" 
"Yes,  sir,  just  after  twelve." 
"Was  he  alone?" 

"No,  sir;  there  was  another  gentleman  with  him." 

"Remember  anything  about  that  other  gentleman?" 

"Nothing,  sir,  except  that  I  noticed  as  they  walked 
through,  that  the  other  gentleman  had  grey  clothes  on." 

"Had  grey  clothes  on.    You  didn't  see  his  face?" 

' '  Not  to  remember  it,  sir.  I  don 't  remember  anything 
but  what  I 've  told  you,  sir. 9  9 


UNDER  SUSPICION 


117 


"That  is  that  the  other  gentleman  wore  a  grey  suit. 
Where  did  Mr.  Anderson  and  this  gentleman  in  the  grey 
suit  go  when  they'd  passed  through ?" 

6 1  Straight  up  the  Lane,  sir. ' ' 

"Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Anderson's  rooms  in  the 
Temple  are?" 

"Not  exactly,  sir,  but  I  understood  in  Fountain 
Court." 

"Now,  on  that  night  in  question,  did  Mr.  Anderson 
leave  again  by  your  lodge  ? 1 ' 
"No,  sir." 

"You  heard  of  the  discovery  of  the  body  of  a  dead 
man  in  Middle  Temple  Lane  next  morning?" 
"I  did,  sir." 

"Did  you  connect  that  man  with  the  gentleman  in  the 
grey  suit?" 

"No,  sir,  I  didn't.  It  never  occurred  to  me.  A  lot 
of  the  gentlemen  who  live  in  the  Temple  bring  friends 
in  late  of  nights ;  I  never  gave  the  matter  any  particular 
thought." 

"Never  mentioned  it  to  anybody  until  now,  when 
you  were  sent  for  to  come  here  ? ' ' 
"No,  sir,  never,  to  anybody." 

"And  you  have  never  known  the  gentleman  standing 
there  as  anybody  but  Mr.  Anderson?" 

"No,  sir,  never  heard  any  other  name  but  Ander- 
son." 

The  Coroner  glanced  at  the  Counsel. 

"I  think  this  may  be  a  convenient  opportunity  for 
Mr.  Aylmore  to  give  the  explanation  he  offered  a  few 
minutes  ago,"  he  said.    "Do  you  suggest  anything?" 


118     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"I  suggest,  sir,"  that  if  Mr.  Aylmore  desires  to  give 
any  explanation  he  should  return  to  the  witness-box 
and  submit  himself  to  examination  again  on  his  oath," 
replied  the  Counsel.    "The  matter  is  in  your  hands." 

The  Coroner  turned  to  Aylmore. 

"Do  you  object  to  that?"  he  asked. 

Aylmore  stepped  boldly  forward  and  into  the  box. 

"I  object  to  nothing,"  he  said  in  clear  tones,  "except 
to  being  asked  to  reply  to  questions  about  matters  of  the 
past  which  have  not  and  cannot  have  anything  to  do  with 
this  case.  Ask  me  what  questions  you  like,  arising  out 
of  the  evidence  of  the  last  two  witnesses,  and  I  will 
answer  them  so  far  as  I  see  myself  justified  in  doing  so. 
Ask  me  questions  about  matters  of  twenty  years  ago, 
and  I  shall  answer  them  or  not  as  I  see  fit.  And  I  may 
as  well  say  that  I  will  take  all  the  consequences  of  my 
silence  or  my  speech." 

The  Treasury  Counsel  rose  again. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Aylmore,"  he  said.  "I  will  put 
certain  questions  to  you.  You  heard  the  evidence  of 
David  Lyell?" 

"I  did." 

"Was  that  quite  true  as  regards  yourself?" 
"Quite  true — absolutely  true." 

"And  you  heard  that  of  the  last  witness.  Was  that 
also  true?" 

"Equally  true." 

"Then  you  admit  that  the  evidence  you  gave  this 
morning,  before  these  witnesses  came  on  the  scene,  was 
not  true?" 


UNDER  SUSPICION 


119 


"No,  I  do  not!  Most  emphatically  I  do  not.  It  was 
time." 

"True?  You  told  me,  on  oath,  that  you  parted  from 
John  Marbury  on  Waterloo  Bridge ! ' ' 

"Pardon  me,  I  said  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  said  that 
from  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel  we  strolled  across  Water- 
loo Bridge,  and  that  shortly  afterwards  we  parted — I 
did  not  say  where  we  parted.  I  see  there  is  a  shorthand 
writer  here  who  is  taking  everything  down — ask  him  if 
that  is  not  exactly  what  I  said  ? ' ' 

A  reference  to  the  stenographer  proved  Aylmore  to 
be  right,  and  the  Treasury  Counsel  showed  plain  an- 
noyance. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  you  so  phrased  your  answer  that 
nine  persons  out  of  ten  wc  ild  have  understood  that  you 
parted  from  Marbury  in  the  open  streets  after  crossing 
Waterloo  Bridge/ '  he  said.    "Now—  ?" 

Aylmore  smiled. 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  the  understanding  of  nine 
people  out  of  ten  any  more  than  I  am  for  your  under- 
standing," he  said,  with  a  sneer.  "I  said  what  I  now 
repeat — Marbury  and  I  walked  across  Waterloo  Bridge, 
and  shortly  afterwards  we  parted.  I  told  you  the 
truth.' ' 

"Indeed!  Perhaps  you  will  continue  to  tell  us  the 
truth.  Since  you  have  admitted  that  the  evidence  of 
the  last  two  witnesses  is  absolutely  correct,  perhaps  you 
will  tell  us  exactly  where  you  and  Marbury  did  part?" 

"I  will — willingly.  We  parted  at  the  door  of  my 
chambers  in  Fountain  Court. ' 7 


120     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


1  i  Then — to  reiterate — it  was  you  who  took  Marbury 
into  the  Temple  that  night?" 

"It  was  certainly  I  who  took  Marbury  into  the  Tem- 
ple that  night.' ' 

There  was  another  murmur  amongst  the  crowded 
benches.  Here  at  any  rate  was  fact — solid,  substantial 
fact.  And  Spargo  began  to  see  a  possible  course  of 
events  which  he  had  not  anticipated. 

"That  is  a  candid  admission,  Mr.  Aylmore.  I  sup- 
pose you  see  a  certain  danger  to  yourself  in  making  it." 

"I  need  not  say  whether  I  do  or  I  do  not.  I  have 
made  it." 

' 1  Very  good.  Why  did  you  not  make  it  before  ? ' ' 
"For  my  own  reasons.  I  told  you  as  much  as  I  con- 
sidered necessary  for  the  purpose  of  this  enquiry.  I 
have  virtually  altered  nothing  now.  I  asked  to  be  al- 
lowed to  make  a  statement,  to  give  an  explanation,  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Lyell  had  left  this  box:  I  was  not  allowed 
to  do  so.  I  am  willing  to  make  it  now." 
"Make  it  then." 

"It  is  simply  this,"  said  Aylmore,  turning  to  the 
Coroner.  "I  have  found  it  convenient,  during  the  past 
three  years,  to  rent  a  simple  set  of  chambers  in  the  Tem- 
ple, where  I  could  occasionally — very  occasionally,  as 
a  rule — go  late  at  night.  I  also  found  it  convenient, 
for  my  own  reasons — with  which,  I  think,  no  one  has 
anything  to  do — to  rent  those  chambers  under  the  name 
of  Mr.  Andersoni  It  was  to  my  chambers  that  Mar- 
bury  accompanied  me  for  a  few  moments  on  the  midnight 
with  which  we  are  dealing.  He  was  not  in  them  more 
than  five  minutes  at  the  very  outside :  I  parted  from  him 


UNDER  SUSPICION 


121 


at  my  outer  door,  and  I  understood  that  he  would  leave 
the  Temple  by  the  way  we  had  entered  and  would  drive 
or  walk  straight  back  to  his  hotel.  That  is  the  whole 
truth.  I  wish  to  add  that  I  ought  perhaps  to  have  told 
all  this  at  first.  I  had  reasons  for  not  doing  so.  I  told 
what  I  considered  necessary,  that  I  parted  from  Mar- 
bury,  leaving  him  well  and  alive,  soon  after  midnight. ' 9 
6  1  What  reasons  were  or  are  they  which  prevented  you 
from  telling  all  this  at  first?"  asked  the  Treasury 
Counsel. 

4 'Reasons  which  are  private  to  me." 
' 'Will  you  tell  them  to  ihe  court?" 
"No!" 

"Then  will  you  tell  us  why  Marbury  went  with  you 
to  the  chambers  in  Fountain  Court  which  you  tenant 
under  the  name  of  Anderson?" 

"Yes.  To  fetch  a  document  which  I  had  in  my  keep- 
ing, and  had  kept  for  him  for  twenty  years  or  more?" 

"A  document  of  importance?" 

"Of  very  great  importance." 

"He  would  have  it  on  him  when  he  was — as  we  be- 
lieve he  was — murdered  and  robbed?" 
"He  had  it  on  him  when  he  left  me." 
"Will  you  tell  us  what  it  was?" 
"Certainly  not!" 

"In  fact,  you  won't  tell  us  any  more  than  you  choose 
to  tell?" 

"I  have  told  you  all  I  can  tell  of  the  events  of  that 
night." 

"Then  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  very  pertinent  ques- 
tion.   Is  it  not  a  fact  that  you  know  a  great  deal  more 


122     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


about  John  Marbury  than  you  have  told  this  court?'5 
"That  I  shall  not  answer." 

* '  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  you  could,  if  you  would,  tell  this 
court  more  about  John  Marbury  and  your  acquaintance- 
ship with  him  twenty  years  ago  ? ' 7 

"I  also  decline  to  answer  that." 

The  Treasury  Counsel  made  a  little  movement  of  his 
shoulders  and  turned  to  the  Coroner. 

"I  should  suggest,  sir,  that  you  adjourn  this  enquiry," 
he  said  quietly. 

"For  a  week,"  assented  the  Coroner,  turning  to  the 
jury. 

The  crowd  surged  out  of  the  court,  chattering,  mur- 
muring, exclaiming — spectators,  witnesses,  jurymen,  re- 
porters, legal  folk,  police  folk,  all  mixed  up  together. 
And  Spargo,  elbowing  his  own  way  out,  and  busily  reck- 
oning up  the  value  of  the  new  complexions  put  on  every- 
thing by  the  day's  work,  suddenly  felt  a  hand  laid  on 
his  arm.  Turning  he  found  himself  gazing  at  Jessie 
Aylmore. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 


THE  SILVER  TICKET 

With  a  sudden  instinct  of  protection,  Spargo  quickly 
drew  the  girl  aside  from  the  struggling  crowd,  and 
within  a  moment  had  led  her  into  a  quiet  by-street.  He 
looked  down  at  her  as  she  stood  recovering  her  breath. 

"Yes?"  he  said  quietly. 

Jessie  Aylmore  looked  up  at  him,  smiling  faintly. 
"I  want  to  speak  to  you/'  she  said.    "I  must  speak 
to  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Spargo.  "But — the  others?  Your  sis- 
ter ?— Breton  ? " 

"I  left  them  on  purpose  to  speak  to  you,"  she  an- 
swered. "They  knew  I  did.  I  am  well  accustomed  to 
looking  after  myself." 

Spargo  moved  down  the  by-street,  motioning  his  com- 
panion to  move  with  him. 

"Tea,"  he  said,  "is  what  you  want.  I  know  a  queer, 
old-fashioned  place  close  by  here  where  you  can  get  the 
best  China  tea  in  London.    Come  and  have  some." 

Jessie  Aylmore  smiled  and  followed  her  guide  obedi- 
ently. And  Spargo  said  nothing,  marching  stolidly 
along  with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  pockets,  his  fin- 
gers playing  soundless  tunes  outside,  until  he  had  in- 

123 


1M     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


stalled  himself  and  his  companion  in  a  quiet  nook  in  the 
old  tea-house  he  had  told  her  of,  and  had  given  an  order 
for  tea  and  hot  tea-cakes  to  a  waitress  who  evidently 
knew  him.    Then  he  turned  to  her. 

' 'You  want,"  he  said,  "to  talk  to  me  about  your 
father. " 

"Yes,"  she  answered.    "I  do." 

"Why?"  asked  Spargo. 

The  girl  gave  him  a  searching  look. 

"Ronald  Breton  says  you're  the  man  who's  written  all 
those  special  articles  in  the  Watchman  about  the  Mar- 
bury  case, ' '  she  answered.    ' '  Are  you  ? ' ' 

"I  am,"  said  Spargo. 

"Then  you're  a  man  of  great  influence,"  she  went 
on.  "You  can  stir  the  public  mind.  Mr.  Spargo — 
what  are  you  going  to  write  about  my  father  and  to- 
day's proceedings?" 

Spargo  signed  to  her  to  pour  out  the  tea  which  had 
just  arrived.  He  seized,  without  ceremony,  upon  a  piece 
of  the  hot  buttered  tea-cake,  and  bit  a  great  lump  out 
of  it. 

"Frankly,",  he  mumbled,  speaking  with  his  mouth 
full,  "frankly,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know — yet.  But 
I'll  tell  you  this — it's  best  to  be  candid — I  shouldn't 
allow  myself  to  be  prejudiced  or  biassed  in  making  up 
my  conclusions  by  anything  that  you  may  say  to  me. 
Understand?" 

Jessie  Aylmore  took  a  sudden  liking  to  Spargo  be- 
cause of  the  unconventionally  and  brusqueness  of  his 
manners. 

"I'm  not  wanting  to  prejudice  or  bias  you,"  she  said. 


THE  SILVER  TICKET  125 


"All  I  want  is  that  you  should  be  very  sure  before  you 
say — anything. ' ' 

"III  be  sure/'  said  Spargo.  "Don't  bother.  Is  the 
tea  all  right?" 

"Beautiful!"  she  answered,  with  a  smile  that  made 
Spargo  look  at  her  again.  "Delightful!  Mr.  Spargo, 
tell  me ! — what  did  you  think  about — about  what  has  just 
happened?" 

Spargo,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  his  fingers  were 
liberally  ornamented  with  butter,  lifted  a  hand  and 
rubbed  his  always  untidy  hair.  Then  he  ate  more  tea- 
cake  and  gulped  more  tea. 

"Look  here!"  he  said  suddenly.  "I'm  no  great  hand 
at  talking.  I  can  write  pretty  decently  when  I've  a 
good  story  to  tell,  but  I  don't  talk  an  awful  lot,  because 
I  never  can  express  what  I  mean  unless  I've  got  a  pen 
in  my  hand.  Frankly,  I  find  it  hard  to  tell  you  what 
I  think.  When  I  write  my  article  this  evening,  I  '11  get 
all  these  things  marshalled  in  proper  form,  and  I  shall 
write  clearly  about  'em.  But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing  I 
do  think — I  wish  your  father  had  made  a  clean  breast 
of  things  to  me  at  first,  when  he  gave  me  that  interview, 
or  had  told  everything  when  he  first  went  into  that  box." 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"Because  he's  now  set  up  an  atmosphere  of  doubt 
and  suspicion  around  himself.  People '11  think — Heaven 
knows  what  they'll  think!  They  already  know  that  he 
knows  more  about  Marbury  than  he'll  tell,  that  " 

"But  does  he?"  she  interrupted  quickly.  "Do  you 
think  he  does?" 

"Yes!"  replied  Spargo,  with  emphasis.    "I  da  A 


126     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


lot  more!  If  lie  had  only  been  explicit  at  first — how- 
ever, he  wasn't.  Now  it's  done.  As  things  stand — 
look  here,  does  it  strike  you  that  your  father  is  in  a  very 
serious  position?'' 

"Serious?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Dangerous!  Here's  the  fact — he's  admitted  that  he 
took  Marbury  to  his  rooms  in  the  Temple  that  midnight. 
"Well,  next  morning  Marbury 's  found  robbed  and  mur- 
dered in  an  entry,  not  fifty  yards  off!" 

"Does  anybody  suppose  that  my  father  would  murder 
him  for  the  sake  of  robbing  him  of  whatever  he  had  on 
him?"  she  laughed  scornfully.  "My  father  is  a  very 
wealthy  man,  Mr.  Spargo." 

' '  May  be, ' '  answered  Spargo.  '  i  But  millionaires  have 
been  known  to  murder  men  who  held  secrets. ' ' 

"Secrets!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Have  some  more  tea,"  said  Spargo,  nodding  at  the 
teapot.  "Look  here — this  way  it  is.  The  theory  that 
people — some  people — will  build  up  (I  won't  say  that 
it  hasn't  suggested  itself  to  me)  is  this: — There's  some 
mystery  about  the  relationship,  acquaintanceship,  con- 
nection, call  it  what  you  like,  of  your  father  and  Mar- 
bury twenty  odd  years  ago.  Must  be.  There's  some 
mystery  about  your  father's  life,  twenty  odd  years  ago. 
Must  be —  or  else  he'd  have  answered  those  questions. 
Very  well.  '  Ha,  ha!'  says  the  general  public.  'Now 
we  have  it!'  1  Marbury,'  says  the  general  public,  'was 
a  man  who  had  a  hold  on  Aylmore.  He  turned  up. 
Aylmore  trapped  him  into  the  Temple,  killed  him  to  pre- 
serve his  own  secret  and  robbed  him  of  all  he  had  on 
him  as  a  blind.'  Eh?77 


THE  SILVER  TICKET  127 


"You  think — people  will  say  that?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Cock-sure!  They're  saying  it.  Heard  half  a  dozen 
of  'em  say  it,  in  more  or  less  elegant  fashion  as  I  came 
out  of  that  court.  Of  course,  they'll  say  it.  Why, 
what  else  could  they  say?" 

For  a  moment  Jessie  Aylmore  sat  looking  silently  into 
her  tea-cup.  Then  she  turned  her  eyes  on  Spargo,  who 
immediately  manifested  a  new  interest  in  what  remained 
of  the  tea-cakes. 

"Is  that  what  you're  going  to  say  in  your  article  to- 
night?" she  asked,  quietly. 

"No!"  replied  Spargo,  promptly.  "It  isn't.  I'm 
going  to  sit  on  the  fence  tonight.  Besides,  the  case  is 
sub  judice.  All  I'm  going  to  do  is  to  tell,  in  my  way, 
what  took  place  at  the  inquest." 

The  girl  impulsively  put  her  hand  across  the  table 
and  laid  it  on  Spargo 's  big  fist. 

"Is  it  what  you  think?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Honour  bright,  no!"  exclaimed  Spargo.  "It  isn't 
— it  isn't!  I  don't  think  it.  I  think  there's  a  most 
extraordinary  mystery  at  the  bottom  of  Marbury 's  death, 
and  I  think  your  father  knows  an  enormous  lot  about 
Marbury  that  he  won't  tell,  but  I'm  certain  sure  that 
he  neither  killed  Marbury  nor  knows  anything  whatever 
about  his  death.  And  as  I'm  out  to  clear  this  mystery 
up,  and  mean  to  do  it,  nothing '11  make  me  more  glad 
than  to  clear  your  father.  I  say,  do  have  some  more 
tea-cake?   We'll  have  fresh  ones — and  fresh  tea." 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said  smiling.  "And  thank  you 
for  what  you've  just  said.  I'm  going  now,  Mr.  Spargo. 
You've  done  me  good." 


128     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Oh,  rot!"  exclaimed  Spargo.  "Nothing — nothing! 
I've  just  told  you  what  I'm  thinking.  You  must 
go? 

He  saw  her  into  a  taxi-cab  presently,  and  when  she 
had  gone  stood  vacantly  staring  after  the  cab  until  a 
hand  clapped  him  smartly  on  the  shoulder.  Turning, 
he  found  Rathbury  grinning  at  him. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Spargo,  I  saw  you!"  he  said.  "Well, 
it's  a  pleasant  change  to  squire  young  ladies  after  being 
all  day  in  that  court.  Look  here,  are  you  going  to  start 
your  writing  just  now  ? " 

"I'm  not  going  to  start  my  writing  as  you  call  it,  until 
after  I've  dined  at  seven  o'clock  and  given  myself  time 
to  digest  my  modest  dinner, ' '  answered  Spargo.  1 '  What 
is  it?"  y 

"Come  back  with  me  and  have  another  look  at  that 
blessed  leather  box,"  said  Rathbury.  "I've  got  it  in 
my  room,  and  I'd  like  to  examine  it  for  myself.  Come 
on!" 

"The  thing's  empty,"  said  Spargo. 

"There  might  be  a  false  bottom  in  it,"  remarked 
Rathbury.    ' '  One  never  knows.    Here,  jump  into  this ! ' ' 

He  pushed  Spargo  into  a  passing  taxi-cab,  and  fol- 
lowing, bade  the  driver  go  straight  to  the  Yard.  Ar- 
rived there,  he  locked  Spargo  and  himself  into  the  drab- 
visaged  room  in  which  the  journalist  had  seen  him  be- 
fore. 

"What  d'ye  think  of  today's  doings,  Spargo?"  he 
asked,  as  he  proceeded  to  unlock  a  cupboard. 

"I  think,"  said  Spargo,  ' ' that  some  of  you  fellows 
must  have  had  your  ears  set  to  tingling." 


THE  SILVER  TICKET  129 


"That's  so,"  assented  Rathbury.  "Of  course,  the 
next  thing  11  be  to  find  out  all  about  the  Mr.  Aylmore 
of  twenty  years  since.  When  a  man  won't  tell  you 
where  he  lived  twenty  years  ago,  what  he  was  exactly 
doing,  what  his  precise  relationship  with  another  man 
was — why,  then,  youVe  just  got  to  find  out,  eh?  Oh, 
some  of  our  fellows  are  at  work  on  the  life  history  of 
Stephen  Aylmore,  Esq.,  M.P.,  already — you  bet !  Well, 
now,  Spargo,  here's  the  famous  box." 

The  detective  brought  the  old  leather  case  out  of  the 
cupboard  in  which  he  had  been  searching,  and  placed  it 
on  his  desk.  Spargo  threw  back  the  lid  and  looked  in- 
side, measuring  the  inner  capacity  against  the  exterior 
lines. 

"No  false  bottom  in  that,  Rathbury,"  he  said. 
"There's  just  the  outer  leather  case,  and  the  inner  lin- 
ing, of  this  old  bed-hanging  stuff,  and  that's  all.  There's 
no  room  for  any  false  bottom  or  anything  of  that  sort, 
d'you  see?" 

Rathbury  also  sized  up  the  box's  capacity. 

"Looks  like  it,"  he  said  disappointedly.  "Well,  what 
about  the  lid,  then?  I  remember  there  was  an  old  box 
like  this  in  my  grandmother's  farmhouse,  where  I  was 
reared — there  was  a  pocket  in  the  lid.  Let's  see  if 
there 's  anything  of  the  sort  here  ? ' ' 

He  threw  the  lid  back  and  began  to  poke  about  the 
lining  of  it  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and  presently  he 
turned  to  his  companion  with  a  sharp  exclamation. 

1 '  By  George,  Spargo ! "  he  said.  i 4 1  don 't  know  about 
any  pocket,  but  there's  something  under  this  lining. 
Feels  like — here,  you  feel.  There — and  there." 


130     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Spargo  put  a  finger  on  the  places  indicated. 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  he  agreed.  "Feels  like  two  cards — 
a  large  and  a  small  one.  And  the  small  one's  harder 
than  the  other.    Better  cut  that  lining  out,  Rathbury." 

"That,"  remarked  Rathbury,  producing  a  pen-knife, 
"is  just  what  I'm  going  to  do.  We'll  cut  along  this 
seam." 

He  ripped  the  lining  carefully  open  along  the  upper 
part  of  the  lining  of  the  lid,  and  looking  into  the  pocket 
thus  made,  drew  out  two  objects  which  he  dropped  on 
his  blotting  pad. 

"A  child's  photograph,"  he  said,  glancing  at  one  of 
them.    "But  what  on  earth  is  that?" 

The  object  to  which  he  pointed  was  a  small,  oblong 
piece  of  thin,  much-worn  silver,  about  the  size  of  a  rail- 
way ticket.  On  one  side  of  it  was  what  seemed  to  be  a 
heraldic  device  or  coat-of-arms,  almost  obliterated  by 
rubbing ;  on  the  other,  similarly  worn  down  by  friction, 
was  the  figure  of  a  horse. 

"That's  a  curious  object,"  remarked  Spargo,  picking 
it  up.  "I  never  saw  anything  like  that  before.  "What 
can  it  be?" 

"Don't  know — I  never  saw  anything  of  the  sort 
either, ' '  said  Rathbury.  ' i  Some  old  token,  I  should  say. 
Now  this  photo.  Ah — you  see,  the  photographer's  name 
and  address  have  been  torn  away  or  broken  off — there's 
nothing  left  but  just  two  letters  of  what's  apparently 
been  the  name  of  the  town — see.  Er — that's  all  there 
is.    Portrait  of  a  baby,  eh?" 

Spargo  gave,  what  might  have  been  called  in  anybody 
else  but  him,  a  casual  glance  at  the  baby's  portrait.  He 


THE  SILVER  TICKET 


131 


picked  up  the  silver  ticket  again  and  turned  it  over  and 
over. 

1 1 Look  here,  Kathbury,"  he  said.  "Let  me  take  this 
silver  thing.  I  know  where  I  can  find  out  what  it  is. 
At  least,  I  think  I  do." 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  detective,  "but  take  the  great- 
est care  of  it,  and  don't  tell  a  soul  that  we  found  it  in 
this  box,  you  know.  No  connection  with  the  Marbury 
case,  Spargo,  remember." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Spargo.    "Trust  me." 

He  put  the  silver  ticket  in  his  pocket,  and  went  back 
to  the  office,  wondering  about  this  singular  find.  And 
when  he  had  written  his  article  that  evening,  and  seen  a 
proof  of  it,  Spargo  went  into  Fleet  Street  intent  on 
sa&king  peculiar  information. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 


MARKET  MILCASTEE 

The  haunt  of  well-informed  men  which  Spargo  had  in 
view  when  he  turned  out  of  the  Watchman  office  lay  well 
hidden  from  ordinary  sight  and  knowledge  in  one  of 
those  Fleet  Street  courts  the  like  of  which  is  not  else- 
where in  the  world.  Only  certain  folk  knew  of  it.  It 
was,  of  course,  a  club ;  otherwise  it  would  not  have  been 
what  it  was.  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  life,  in  Eng- 
land, at  any  rate,  to  form  a  club  of  congenial  spirits. 
You  get  so  many  of  your  choice  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances to  gather  round  you ;  you  register  yourselves  under 
a  name  of  your  own  choosing ;  you  take  a  house  and  fur- 
nish it  according  to  your  means  and  your  taste :  you  com- 
ply with  the  very  easy  letter  of  the  law,  and  there  you 
are.  Keep  within  that  easy  letter,  and  you  can  do  what 
you  please  on  your  own  premises.  It  is  much  more 
agreeable  to  have  a  small  paradise  of  your  own  of  this 
description  than  to  lounge  about  Fleet  Street  bars. 

The  particular  club  to  which  Spargo  bent  his  steps 
was  called  the  Octoneumenoi.  Who  evolved  this  extraor- 
dinary combination  of  Latin  and  Greek  was  a  dark 
mystery:  there  it  was,  however,  on  a  tiny  brass  plate 
you  once  reached  the  portals.  The  portals  were  gained 
by  devious  ways.  You  turned  out  of  Fleet  Street  by  an 
alley  so  narrow  that  it  seemed  as  if  you  might  suddenly 

132 


MARKET  MILCASTER  133 


find  yourself  squeezed  between  the  ancient  walls.  Then 
you  suddenly  dived  down  another  alley  and  found  your- 
self in  a  small  court,  with  high  walls  around  you  and  a 
smell  of  printer's  ink  in  your  nose  and  a  whirring  of 
printing  presses  in  your  ears.  You  made  another  dive 
into  a  dark  entry,  much  encumbered  by  bales  of  paper, 
crates  of  printing  material,  jars  of  printing  ink;  after 
falling  over  a  few  of  these  you  struck  an  ancient  flight 
of  stairs  and  went  up  past  various  landings,  always 
travelling  in  a  state  of  gloom  and  fear.  After  a  lot  of 
twisting  and  turning  you  came  to  the  very  top  of  the 
house  and  found  it  heavily  curtained  off.  You  lifted  a 
curtain  and  found  yourself  in  a  small  entresol,  some- 
what artistically  painted — the  whole  and  sole  work  of 
an  artistic  member  who  came  one  day  with  a  formidable 
array  of  lumber  and  paint-pots  and  worked  his  will  on 
the  ancient  wood.  Then  you  saw  the  brass  plate  and 
its  fearful  name,  and  beneath  it  the  formal  legal  notice 
that  this  club  was  duly  registered  and  so  on,  and  if  you 
were  a  member  you  went  in,  and  if  you  weren't  a  mem- 
ber you  tinkled  an  electric  bell  and  asked  to  see  a  mem- 
ber— if  you  knew  one. 

Spargo  was  not  a  member,  but  he  knew  many  members, 
and  he  tinkled  the  bell,  and  asked  the  boy  who  answered 
it  for  Mr.  Starkey.  Mr.  Starkey,  a  young  gentleman 
with  the  biceps  of  a  prize-fighter  and  a  head  of  curly 
hair  that  would  have  done  credit  to  Antinous,  came 
forth  in  due  course  and  shook  Spargo  by  the  hand  until 
his  teeth  rattled. 

"Had  we  known  you  were  coming,' 9  said  Mr.  Starkey, 
"we'd  have  had  a  brass  band  on  the  stairs." 


184      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"I  want  to  come  in,"  remarked.  Spargo. 
"Sure!"  said  Mr.  Starkey.    "That's  what  you've 
come  for." 

"Well,  stand  out  of  the  way,  then,  and  let's  get  in," 
said  Spargo.  "Look  here,"  he  continued  when  they  had 
penetrated  into  a  small  vestibule,  "doesn't  old  Crow- 
foot turn  in  here  about  this  time  every  night ! ' ' 

"Every  night  as  true  as  the  clock,  my  son  Spargo, 
Crowfoot  puts  his  nose  in  at  precisely  eleven,  having  by 
that  time  finished  that  daily  column  wherein  he  informs 
a  section  of  the  populace  as  to  the  prospects  of  their 
spotting  a  winner  tomorrow,"  answered  Mr.  Starkey. 
"It's  five  minutes  to  his  hour  now.  Come  in  and  drink 
till  he  comes.    Want  him?" 

"A  word  with  him,"  answered  Spargo.  "A  mere 
word — or  two." 

He  followed  Starkey  into  a  room  which  was  so  filled 
with  smoke  and  sound  that  for  a  moment  it  was  im- 
possible to  either  see  or  hear.  But  the  smoke  was  gradu- 
ally making  itself  into  a  canopy,  and  beneath  the  canopy 
Spargo  made  out  various  groups  of  men  of  all  ages, 
sitting  around  small  tables,  smoking  and  drinking,  and 
all  talking  as  if  the  great  object  of  their  lives  was  to  get 
as  many  words  as  possible  out  of  their  mouths  in  the 
shortest  possible  time.  In  the  further  corner  was  a 
small  bar  ;  Starkey  pulled  Spargo  up  to  it. 

"Xame  it,  my  son,"  commanded  Starkey.  "Try  the 
Octoneumenoi  very  extra  special.  Two  of  'em,  Dick. 
Come  to  beg  to  be  a  member,  Spargo?" 

"  I  '11  think  about  being  a  member  of  this  ante-room  of 
the  infernal  regions  when  you  start  a  ventilating  fan 


MARKET  MILCASTER  135 


and  provide  members  with  a  route-map  of  the  way  from 
Fleet  Street/'  answered  Spargo,  taking  his  glass, 
"Phew! — what  an  atmosphere!" 

"We're  considering  a  ventilating-f an, ' '  said  Starkey. 
"I'm  on  the  house  committee  now,  and  I  brought  that 
very  matter  up  at  our  last  meeting.  But  Templeson,  of 
the  Bulletin — -you  know  Templeson — he  says  what  we 
want  is  a  wine-cooler  to  stand  under  that  sideboard — 
says  no  club  is  proper  without  a  wine-cooler,  and  that 
he  knows  a  chap — second-hand  dealer,  don't  you  know — 
what  has  a  beauty  to  dispose  of  in  old  Sheffield  plate. 
Now,  if  you  were  on  our  house  committee,  Spargo,  old 
man,  would  you  go  in  for  the  wine-cooler  or  the  ventilat- 
ing fan  ?   You  see  ' ' 

"There  is  Crowfoot,"  said  Spargo.  "Shout  him  over 
here,  Starkey,  before  anybody  else  collars  him." 

Through  the  door  by  which  Spargo  had  entered  a  few 
minutes  previously  came  a  man  who  stood  for  a  moment 
blinking  at  the  smoke  and  the  lights.  He  was  a  tall,  eld- 
erly man  with  a  figure  and  bearing  of  a  soldier;  a  big, 
sweeping  moustache  stood  well  out  against  a  square-cut 
jaw  and  beneath  a  prominent  nose ;  a  pair  of  keen  blue 
eyes  looked  out  from  beneath  a  tousled  mass  of  crinkled 
hair.  He  wore  neither  hat  nor  cap ;  his  attire  was  a  care- 
lessly put  on  Norfolk  suit  of  brown  tweed ;  he  looked  half- 
unkempt,  half-groomed.  But  knotted  at  the  collar  of 
his  flannel  shirt  were  the  colours  of  one  of  the  most  fa- 
mous and  exclusive  cricket  clubs  in  the  world,  and  every- 
body knew  that  in  his  day  their  wearer  had  been  a 
mighty  figure  in  the  public  eye. 

"Hi,  Crowfoot!"  shouted  Starkey  above  the  din  and 


136     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


babel.  "Crowfoot,  Crowfoot!  Come  over  here,  there's 
a  chap  dying  to  see  you ! ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  the  way  to  get  him,  isn't  it?"  said  Spargo. 
"Here,  I'll  get  him  myself." 

He  went  across  the  room  and  accosted  the  old  sport- 
ing journalist. 

"I  want  a  quiet  word  with  you,"  he  said.  "This 
place  is  like  a  pandemonium." 

Crowfoot  led  the  way  into  a  side  alcove  and  ordered  a 
drink. 

"Always  is,  this  time,"  he  said,  yawning.  "But  it's 
companionable.    What  is  it,  Spargo?" 

Spargo  took  a  pull  at  the  glass  which  he  had  carried 
with  him.  "I  should  say,"  he  said,  "that  you  know  as 
much  about  sporting  matters  as  any  man  writing  about 
'em?" 

"Well,  I  think  you  might  say  it  with  truth,"  answered 
Crowfoot. 

"And  old  sporting  matters?"  said  Spargo. 

"Yes,  and  old  sporting  matters,"  replied  the  other 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  the  eye.  "Not  that  they  greatly 
interest  the  modern  generation,  you  know." 

"Well,  there's  something  that's  interesting  me  greatly 
just  now,  anyway,"  said  Spargo.  "And  I  believe  it's 
got  to  do  with  old  sporting  affairs.  And  I  came  to  you 
for  information  about  it,  believing  you  to  be  the  only 
man  I  know  of  that  could  tell  anything. ' ' 

"Yes — what  is  it?"  asked  Crowfoot. 

Spargo  drew  out  an  envelope,  and  took  from  it  the 
carefully-wrapped-up  silver  ticket.    He  took  off  the 


MARKET  MILCASTER  137 

wrappings  and  laid  the  ticket  on  Crowfoot's  outstretched 
palm. 

"Can  you  tell  me  what  that  is?"  he  asked. 

Another  sudden  flash  came  into  the  old  sportsman's 
eyes — he  eagerly  turned  the  silver  ticket  over. 

* 4  God  bless  my  soul  !"  he  exclaimed.  4  4  Where  did  you 
get  this?" 

4 ' Never  mind,  just  now,"  replied  Spargo.  4 ' You 
know  what  it  is  ? " 

4 4  Certainly  I  know  what  it  is !  But — Gad !  I  Ve  not 
seen  one  of  these  things  for  Lord  knows  how  many  years. 
It  makes  me  feel  something  like  a  young  'un  again!" 
said  Crowfoot.    4  4  Quite  a  young  'un!" 

4 4 But  what  is  it?"  asked  Spargo. 

Crowfoot  turned  the  ticket  over,  showing  the  side  on 
which  the  heraldic  device  was  almost  worn  away. 

4 4 It's  one  of  the  original  silver  stand  tickets  of  the  old 
racecourse  at  Market  Milcaster,"  answered  Crowfoot. 
"That's  what  it  is.  One  of  the  old  original  silver  stand 
tickets.  There  are  the  arms  of  Market  Milcaster,  you 
see,  nearly  worn  away  by  much  rubbing.  There,  on  the 
obverse,  is  the  figure  of  a  running  horse.  Oh,  yes,  that 's 
what  it  is !    Bless  me ! — most  interesting. ' ' 

4  4  Where's  Market  Milcaster?"  enquired  Spargo. 
"Don't  know  it." 

4 4 Market  Milcaster,"  replied  Crowfoot,  still  turning 
the  silver  ticket  over  and  over,  4  4  is  what  the  topographers 
call  a  decayed  town  in  Elmshire.  It  has  steadily  de- 
cayed since  the  river  that  led  to  it  got  gradually  silted 
up.    There  used  to  be  a  famous  race-meeting  there  in 


138     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


June  every  year.  It's  nearly  forty  years  since  that  meet- 
ing fell  through.  I  went  to  it  often  when  I  was  a  lad — 
often !" 

"And  you  say  that's  a  ticket  for  the  stand?"  asked 
Spargo. 

"This  is  one  of  fifty  silver  tickets,  or  passes,  or  what- 
ever you  like  to  call  'em,  which  were  given  by  the  race 
committee  to  fifty  burgesses  of  the  town/'  answered 
Crowfoot.  "It  was,  I  remember,  considered  a  great 
privilege  to  possess  a  silver  ticket.  It  admitted  its  pos- 
sessor— for  life,  mind  you ! — to  the  stand,  the  paddocks, 
the  ring,  anywhere.  It  also  gave  him  a  place  at  the 
annual  race-dinner.  Where  on  earth  did  you  get  this, 
Spargo?" 

Spargo  took  the  ticket  and  carefully  re-wrapped  it, 
this  time  putting  it  in  his  purse. 

"I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you,  Crowfoot,"  he  said. 
"The  fact  is,  I  can't  tell  you  where  I  got  it  just  now, 
but  I'll  promise  you  that  I  will  tell  you,  and  all  about 
it,  too,  as  soon  as  my  tongue's  free  to  do  so." 

"Some  mystery,  eh?"    suggested  Crowfoot. 

"Considerable,"  answered  Spargo.  "Don't  mention 
to  anyone  that  I  showed  it  to  you.  You  shall  know 
everything  eventually." 

"Oh,  all  right,  my  boy,  all  right!"  said  Crowfoot. 
"Odd  how  things  turn  up,  isn't  it?  Now,  I'll  wager 
anything  that  there  aren't  half  a  dozen  of  these  old 
things  outside  Market  Milcaster  itself.  As  I  said,  there 
were  only  fifty,  and  they  were  all  in  possession  of 
burgesses.  They  were  so  much  thought  of  that  they 
were  taken  great  care  of.    I've  been  in  Market  Milcaster 


MARKET  MILCASTER 


139 


myself  since  the  races  were  given  up,  and  I 've  seen  these 
tickets  carefully  framed  and  hung  over  mantelpieces — 
oh,  yes  I" 

Spargo  caught  at  a  notion. 

"How  do  you  get  to  Market  Milcaster?"  he  asked. 
"Paddington,"  replied  Crowfoot.    "It's  a  goodish 
way. ' ' 

"I  wonder,' '  said  Spargo,  "if  there's  any  old  sport- 
ing man  there  who  could  remember — things.  Anything 
about  this  ticket,  for  instance  ? ' ' 

"Old  sporting  man!"  exclaimed  Crowfoot.  "Egad! 
—but  no,  he  must  be  dead — anyhow,  if  he  isn 't  dead,  he 
must  be  a  veritable  patriarch.  Old  Ben  Quarterpage,  he 
was  an  auctioneer  in  the  town,  and  a  rare  sportsman." 

"I  may  go  down  there,"  said  Spargo.  "I'll  see  if 
he's  alive." 

"Then,  if  you  do  go  down,"  suggested  Crowfoot,  "go 
to  the  old  '  Yellow  Dragon'  in  the  High  Street,  a  fine  old 
place.  Quarterpage 's  place  of  business  and  his  private 
house  were  exactly  opposite  the  4 Dragon.'  But  I'm 
afraid  you'll  find  him  dead — it's  five  and  twenty  years 
since  I  was  in  Market  Milcaster,  and  he  was  an  old  bird 
then.  Let's  see,  now.  If  Old  Ben  Quarterpage  is  alive, 
Spargo,  he'll  be  ninety  years  of  age !" 

"Well,  I've  known  men  of  ninety  who  were  spry 
enough,  even  in  my  bit  of  experience,"  said  Spargo.  "I 
know  one — now — my  own  grandfather.  "Well,  the  best 
of  thanks,  Crowfoot,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some 
day." 

"Have  another  drink?"  suggested  Crowfoot. 

But  Spargo  excused  himself.    He  was  going  back  to 


140     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

the  office,  he  said;  he  still  had  something  to  do.  And 
he  got  himself  away  from  the  Octoneumenoi,  in  spite  of 
Starkey,  who  wished  to  start  a  general  debate  on  the 
wisest  way  of  expending  the  club's  ready  money  balance, 
and  went  back  to  the  Watchman,  and  there  he  sought  the 
presence  of  the  editor,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it 
was  the  busiest  hour  of  the  night,  saw  him  and  remained 
closeted  with  him  for  the  extraordinary  space  of  ten 
minutes.  And  after  that  Spargo  went  home  and  fell 
into  bed. 

But  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  he  was  on  the 
departure  platform  at  Paddington,  suit-case  in  hand, 
and  ticket  in  pocket  for  Market  Milcaster,  and  in  the 
course  of  that  afternoon  he  found  himself  in  an  old- 
fashioned  bedroom  looking  out  on  Market  Milcaster  High 
Street.  And  there,  right  opposite  him,  he  saw  an  ancient 
house,  old  brick,  ivy-covered,  with  an  office  at  its  side, 
over  the  door  of  which  was  the  name,  Benjamin  Quarter- 
page. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 


THE  "YELLOW  DRAGON" 

Spargo,  changing  his  clothes,  washing  away  the  dust 
of  his  journey,  in  that  old-fashioned  lavender-scented 
bedroom,  busied  his  mind  in  further  speculations  on  his 
plan  of  campaign  in  Market  Milcaster.  He  had  no  par- 
ticularly clear  plan.  The  one  thing  he  was  certain  of 
was  that  in  the  old  leather  box  which  the  man  whom  he 
knew  as  John  Marbury  had  deposited  with  the  London 
and  Universal  Safe  Deposit  Company,  he  and  Eathbury 
had  discovered  one  of  the  old  silver  tickets  of  Market 
Milcaster  racecourse,  and  that  he,  Spargo,  had  come  to 
Market  Milcaster,  with  the  full  approval  of  his  editor, 
in  an  endeavour  to  trace  it.  How  was  he  going  to  set 
about  this  difficult  task  ? 

"The  first  thing,"  said  Spargo  to  himself  as  he  tied 
a  new  tie,  "is  to  have  a  look  round.  That'll  be  no  long 
job." 

For  he  had  already  seen  as  he  approached  the  town, 
and  as  he  drove  from  the  station  to  the  "Yellow  Dragon" 
Hotel,  that  Market  Milcaster  was  a  very  small  place.  It 
chiefly  consisted  of  one  long,  wide  thoroughfare — the 
High  Street — with  smaller  streets  leading  from  it  on 
either  side.  In  the  High  Street  seemed  to  be  every- 
thing that  the  town  could  show — the  ancient  parish 

141 


142     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


church,  the  town  hall,  the  market  cross,  the  principal 
houses  and  shops,  the  bridge,  beneath  which  ran  the 
river  whereon  ships  had  once  come  up  to  the  town  be- 
fore its  mouth,  four  miles  away,  became  impassably  silted 
up.  It  was  a  bright,  clean,  little  town,  but  there  were  few 
signs  of  trade  in  it,  and  Spargo  had  been  quick  to  notice 
that  in  the  4  4  Yellow  Dragon, "  a  big,  rambling  old 
hostelry,  reminiscent  of  the  old  coaching  days,  there 
seemed  to  be  little  doing.  He  had  eaten  a  bit  of  lunch 
in  the  coffee-room  immediately  on  his  arrival ;  the  coffee- 
room  was  big  enough  to  accommodate  a  hundred  and 
fifty  people,  but  beyond  himself,  an  old  gentleman  and 
his  daughter,  evidently  tourists,  two  young  men  talking 
golf,  a  man  who  looked  like  an  artist,  and  an  unmistak- 
able honeymooning  couple,  there  was  no  one  in  it.  There 
was  little  traffic  in  the  wide  street  beneath  Spargo 's  win- 
dows; little  passage  of  people  to  and  fro  on  the  side- 
walks; here  a  countryman  drove  a  lazy  cow  as  lazily 
along ;  there  a  farmer  in  his  light  cart  sat  idly  chatting 
with  an  aproned  tradesman,  who  had  come  out  of  his  shop 
to  talk  to  him.  Over  everything  lay  the  quiet  of  the  sun- 
light of  the  summer  afternoon,  and  through  the  open 
windows  stole  a  faint,  sweet  scent  of  the  new-mown  hay 
lying  in  the  meadows  outside  the  old  houses. 

" A  veritable  Sleepy  Hollow/ '  mused  Spargo.  " Let's 
go  down  and  see  if  there's  anybody  to  talk  to.  Great 
Scott ! — to  think  that  I  vras  in  the  poisonous  atmosphere 
of  the  Octoneumenoi  only  sixteen  hours  ago!" 

Spargo,  after  losing  himself  in  various  corridors  and 
passages,  finally  landed  in  the  wide,  stone-paved  hall  of 
the  cid  hotel,  and  with  a  sure  instinct  turned  into  the 


TH^  "YELLOW  DRAGON"  143 


bar-parlour  which  he  had  noticed  when  he  entered  the 
place.  This  was  a  roomy,  comfortable,  bow-windowed 
apartment,  looking  out  upon  the  High  Street,  and  was 
furnished  and  ornamented  with  the  usual  appurtenances 
of  country-town  hotels.  There  were  old  chairs  and 
tables  and  sideboards  and  cupboards,  which  had  certainly 
been  made  a  century  before,  and  seemed  likely  to  endure 
for  a  century  or  two  longer;  there  were  old  prints  of 
the  road  and  the  chase,  and  an  old  oil-painting  or  two 
of  red-faced  gentlemen  in  pink  coats;  there  were  foxes' 
masks  on  the  wall,  and  a  monster  pike  in  a  glass  case  on 
a  side-table ;  there  were  ancient  candlesticks  on  the  man- 
telpiece and  an  antique  snuff-box  set  between  them. 
Also  there  was  a  small,  old-fashioned  bar  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  and  a  new-fashioned  young  woman  seated  be- 
hind it,  who  was  yawning  over  a  piece  of  fancy  needle- 
work, and  looked  at  Spargo  when  he  entered  as  Andro- 
meda may  have  looked  at  Perseus  when  he  made  arrival 
at  her  rock.  And  Spargo,  treating  himself  to  a  suitable 
drink  and  choosing  a  cigar  to  accompany  it,  noted  the 
look,  and  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair. 

1 'This,"  he  remarked,  eyeing  the  damsel  with  enquiry, 
"appears  to  me  to  be  a  very  quiet  place." 

'  '  Quiet ! 9 '  exclaimed  the  lady.    ' '  Quiet  ? ' ' 

"That,"  continued  Spargo,  "is  precisely  what  I  ob- 
served. Quiet.  I  see  that  you  agree  with  me.  You 
expressed  your  agreement  with  two  shades  of  emphasis, 
the  surprised  and  the  scornful.  We  may  conclude,  thus 
far,  that  the  place  is  undoubtedly  quiet.' ' 

The  damsel  looked  at  Spargo  as  if  she  considered  him 
in  the  light  of  a  new  speciment  and  picking  up  her 


1U     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  FURDER 


needlework  she  quitted  the  bar  and  coming  out  into  the 
room  took  a  chair  near  his  own. 

"It  makes  you  thankful  to  see  a  funeral  go  by  here," 
she  remarked.    "It's  about  all  that  one  ever  does  see." 

"Are  there  many?"  asked  Spargo.  "Do  the  inhabi- 
tants die  much  of  inanition  ?" 

The  damsel  gave  Spargo  another  critical  inspection. 

"Oh,  you're  joking!"  she  said.  "It's  well  you  can. 
Nothing  ever  happens  here.  This  place  is  a  back  num- 
ber." 

"Even  the  back  numbers  make  pleasant  reading  at 
times,"  murmured  Spargo.  "And  the  backwaters  of 
life  are  refreshing.  Nothing  doing  in  this  town,  then?" 
he  added  in  a  louder  voice. 

' '  Nothing ! ' '  replied  his  companion.  "  It 's  fast  asleep. 
I  came  here  from  Birmingham,  and  I  didn't  know  what 
I  was  coming  to.  In  Birmingham  you  see  as  many  peo- 
ple in  ten  minutes  as  you  see  here  in  ten  months. ' ' 

"Ah!"  said  Spargo.  "What  you  are  suffering  from 
is  dulness.    You  must  have  an  antidote." 

"Dulness!"  exclaimed  the  damsel.  "That's  the  right 
word  for  Market  Milcaster.  There's  just  a  few  regular 
old  customers  drop  in  here  of  a  morning,  between  eleven 
and  one.  A  stray  caller  looks  in — perhaps — during  the 
afternoon.  Then,  at  night,  a  lot  of  old  fogies  sit  round 
that  end  of  the  room  and  talk  about  old  times.  Old 
times,  indeed! — what  they  want  in  Market  Milcaster  is 
new  times  " 

Spargo  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Well,  but  it's  rather  interesting  to  hear  old  fogies 
talk  about  old  times,"  he  said.    "I  love  it!" 


THE  "YELLOW  DRAGON"  145 


4 '  Then  you  can  get  as  much  of  it  as  ever  you  want 
here,"  remarked  the  barmaid.  ' 1  Look  in  tonight  any 
time  after  eight  o'clock,  and  if  you  don't  know  more 
about  the  history  of  Market  Milcaster  by  ten  than  you 
did  when  you  sat  down,  you  must  be  deaf.  There  are 
some  old  gentlemen  drop  in  here  every  night,  regular  as 
clockwork,  who  seem  to  feel  that  they  couldn't  go  to  bed 
unless  they've  told  each  other  stories  about  old  days 
which  I  should  think  they've  heard  a  thousand  times 
already!" 

"  Very  old  men?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Methuselahs,"  replied  the  lady.  "There's  old  Mr. 
Quarterpage,  across  the  way  there,  the  auctioneer,  though 
he  doesn't  do  any  business  now — they  say  he's  ninety, 
though  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  take  him  for  more  than 
seventy.  And  there's  Mr.  Lummis,  further  down  the 
street — he's  eighty-one.  And  Mr.  Skene,  and  Mr.  Kaye 
— they're  regular  patriarchs.  I've  sat  here  and  listened 
to  them  till  I  believe  I  could  write  a  history  of  Market 
Milcaster  since  the  year  One." 

"I  can  conceive  of  that  as  a  pleasant  and  profitable 
occupation,"  said  Spargo. 

He  chatted  a  while  longer  in  a  fashion  calculated  to 
cheer  the  barmaid's  spirits,  after  which  he  went  out  and 
strolled  around  the  town  until  seven  o'clock,  the 
"Dragon's"  hour  for  dinner.  There  were  no  more  peo- 
ple in  the  big  coffee-room  than  there  had  been  at  lunch 
and  Spargo  was  glad,  when  his  solitary  meal  was  over,  to 
escape  to  the  bar-parlour,  where  he  took  his  coffee  in  a 
corner  near  to  that  sacred  part  in  which  the  old  towns- 
men had  been  reported  to  him  to  sit. 


146     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"And  mind  you  don't  sit  in  one  of  their  chairs/ '  said 
the  barmaid,  warningly.  ' 'They  all  have  their  own  spe- 
cial chairs  and  their  special  pipes  there  on  that  rack,  and 
I  suppose  the  ceiling  would  fall  in  if  anybody  touched 
pipe  or  chair.  Rut  you're  all  right  there,  and  you'll 
hear  all  they've  got  to  say." 

To  Spargo,  who  had  never  seen  anything  of  the  sort 
before,  and  who,  twenty-four  hours  previously,  would 
lave  believed  the  thing  impossible,  the  proceedings  of 
that  evening  in  the  bar-parlour  of  the  "Yellow  Dragon" 
at  Market  Milcaster  were  like  a  sudden  transference  to 
the  eighteenth  century.  Precisely  as  the  clock  struck 
eight  and  a  bell  began  to  toll  somewhere  in  the  recesses 
of  the  High  Street,  an  old  gentleman  walked  in,  and  the 
barmaid,  catching  Spargo 's  eye,  gave  him  a  glance  which 
showed  that  the  play  was  about  to  begin. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Kaye,"  said  the  barmaid. 
"You're  first  tonight." 

"Evening,"  said  Mr.  Kaye  and  took  a  seat,  scowled 
around  him,  and  became  silent.  He  was  a  tall,  lank  old 
gentleman,  clad  in  rusty  black  clothes,  with  a  pointed 
collar  sticking  up  on  both  sides  of  his  fringe  of  grey 
whisker  and  a  voluminous  black  neckcloth  folded  sev- 
eral times  round  his  neck,  and  by  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  inclined  to  look  on  life  severely.  "No- 
body been  in  yet?"  asked  Mr.  Kaye. 

"No,  but  here's  Mr.  Lummis  and  Mr.  Skene,"  replied 
the  barmaid. 

Two  more  old  gentlemen  entered  the  bar-parlour. 
Of  these,  one  was  a  little,  dapper-figured  man,  clad  in 
clothes  of  an  eminently  sporting  cut,  and  of  very  loud 


THE  "YELLOW  DRAGON"  147 


pattern;  he  sported  a  bright  blue  necktie,  a  flower  in 
his  lapel,  and  a  tall  white  hat,  which  he  wore  at  a  rakish 
angle.  The  other  was  a  big,  portly,  bearded  man  with 
a  Falstaffian  swagger  and  a  rakish  eye,  who  chaffed  the 
barmaid  as  he  entered,  and  gave  her  a  good-humoured 
chuck  under  the  chin  as  he  passed  her.  These  two  also 
sank  into  chairs  which  seemed  to  have  been  specially 
designed  to  meet  them,  and  the  stout  man  slapped  the 
arms  of  his  as  familiarly  as  he  had  greeted  the  barmaid. 
He  looked  at  his  two  cronies. 

' '  Well  V 9  he  said.  ' '  Here 's  three  of  us.  And  there  's 
a  symposium." 

"Wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit,"  said  the  dapper  little  man, 
"Grandpa  11  be  here  in  a  minute.    We'll  start  fair." 

The  barmaid  glanced  out  of  the  window. 

"There's  Mr.  Quarterpage  coming  across  the  street 
now,"  she  announced.  "Shall  I  put  the  things  on  the 
table?" 

"Aye,  put  them  on,  my  dear,  put  them  on!"  com- 
manded the  fat  man.    "Have  all  in  readiness." 

The  barmaid  thereupon  placed  a  round  table  before 
the  sacred  chairs,  set  out  upon  it  a  fine  old  punch-bowl 
and  the  various  ingredients  for  making  punch,  a  bos  of 
cigars,  and  an  old  leaden  tobacco-box,  and  she  had  just 
completed  this  interesting  prelude  to  the  evening's  dis- 
course when  the  door  opened  again  and  in  walked  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  old  men  Spargo  had  ever  seen. 
And  by  this  time,  knowing  that  this  was  the  venerable 
Mr.  Benjamin  Quarterpage,  of  whom  Crowfoot  had  told 
him,  he  took  good  stock  of  the  newcomer  as  he  took  his 
place  amongst  his  friends,  who  on  their  part  received 


148     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


him  with  ebullitions  of  delight  which  were  positively 
boyish. 

Mr.  Quarterpage  was  a  youthful  buck  of  ninety — a 
middle-sized,  sturdily-built  man,  straight  as  a  dart,  still 
active  of  limb,  clear-eyed,  and  strong  of  voice.  His 
clean-shaven  old  countenance  was  ruddy  as  a  sun- 
warmed  pippin;  his  hair  was  still  only  silvered;  his 
hand  was  steady  as  a  rock.  His  clothes  of  buff-coloured 
whipcord  were  smart  and  jaunty,  his  neckerchief  as  gay 
as  if  he  had  been  going  to  a  fair.  It  seemed  to  Spargo 
that  Mr.  Quarterpage  had  a  pretty  long  lease  of  life  be- 
fore him  even  at  his  age. 

Spargo,  in  his  corner,  sat  fascinated  while  the  old  gen- 
tlemen began  their  symposium.  Another,  making  five, 
came  in  and  joined  them — the  five  had  the  end  of  the 
bar-parlour  to  themselves.  Mr.  Quarterpage  made  the 
punch  with  all  due  solemnity  and  ceremony ;  when  it  was 
ladled  out  each  man  lighted  his  pipe  or  took  a  cigar,  and 
the  tongues  began  to  wag.  Other  folk  came  and  went; 
the  old  gentlemen  were  oblivious  of  anything  but  their 
own  talk.  Now  and  then  a  young  gentleman  of  the 
town  dropped  in  to  take  his  modest  half-pint  of  bitter 
beer  and  to  dally  in  the  presence  of  the  barmaid ;  such 
looked  with  awe  at  the  patriarchs :  as  for  the  patriarchs 
themselves  they  were  lost  in  the  past. 

Spargo  began  to  understand  what  the  damsel  behind 
the  bar  meant  when  she  said  that  she  believed  she  could 
write  a  history  of  Market  Milcaster  since  the  year  One. 
After  discussing  the  weather,  the  local  events  of  the 
day,  and  various  personal  matters,  the  old  fellows  got  to 
reminiscences  of  the  past,  telling  tale  after  tale,  recalling 


THE  "YELLOW  DRAGON"  149 

incident  upon  incident  of  long  years  before.  At  last 
they  turned  to  memories  of  racing  days  at  Market  Mil- 
caster.  And  at  that  Spargo  determined  on  a  bold  stroke. 
Now  was  the  time  to  get  some  information.  Taking  the 
silver  ticket  from  his  purse,  he  laid  it,  the  heraldic  device 
uppermost,  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  approaching 
the  group  with  a  polite  bow,  said  quietly  : 

"Gentlemen,  can  any  of  you  tell  me  anything  about 
that?" 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

MR.  QUARTERPAGE  HARKS  BACK 

If  Spargo  had  upset  the  old  gentlemen's  bowl  of  punch 
■ — the  second  of  the  evening — -or  had  dropped  an  infernal 
machine  in  their  midst,  he  could  scarcely  have  produced 
a  more  startling  effect  than  that  wrought  upon  them  by 
his  sudden  production  of  the  silver  ticket.  Their  babble 
of  conversation  died  out ;  one  of  them  dropped  his  pipe ; 
another  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly discovered  that  he  was  sucking  a  stick  of  poison ; 
all  lifted  astonished  faces  to  the  interrupter,  staring 
from  him  to  the  shining  object  exhibited  in  his  out- 
stretched palm,  from  it  back  to  him.  And  at  last  Mr. 
Quarterpage,  to  whom  Spargo  had  more  particularly  ad- 
dressed himself,  spoke,  pointing  with  great  empresse- 
ment  to  the  ticket. 

"  Young  gentleman !"  he  said,  in  accents  that  seemed 
to  Spargo  to  tremble  a  little,  "  young  gentleman,  where 
did  you  get  that?" 

'  'You  know  what  it  is,  then?"  asked  Spargo,  willing 
to  dally  a  little  with  the  matter.    "You  recognize  it?" 

"Know  it!  Recognize  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Quarter- 
page.  "Yes,  and  so  does  every  gentleman  present.  And 
it  is  just  because  I  see  you  are  a  stranger  to  this  town 

150 


MR.  QUARTERPAGE  HARKS  BACK  151 

that  I  ask  you  where  you  got  it.  Not,  I  think,  young 
genf  ieman,  in  this  town. ' ' 

"No,"  replied  Spargo.  "Certainly  not  in  this  town. 
Hovr  should  I  get  it  in  this  town  if  Pm  a  stranger  ? ' ' 

"Quite  true,  quite  true!''  murmured  Mr.  Quarter- 
page.  "I  cannot  conceive  how  any  person  in  the  town 
who  is  in  possession  of  one  of  those — what  shall  we  call 
them — heirlooms  ? — yes,  heirlooms  of  antiquity,  could 
possibly  be  base  enough  to  part  with  it.  Therefore,  I 
ask  again — Where  did  you  get  that,  young  gentleman?" 

"Before  I  tell  you  that,"  answered  Spargo,  who,  in 
answer  to  a  silent  sign  from  the  fat  man  had  drawn  a 
chair  amongst  them,  "perhaps  you  will  tell  me  exactly 
what  this  is  ?  I  see  it  to  be  a  bit  of  old,  polished,  much 
worn  silver,  having  on  the  obverse  the  arms  or  heraldic 
bearings  of  somebody  or  something;  on  the  reverse  the 
figure  of  a  running  horse.    But — what  is  it  ? ' ' 

The  five  old  men  all  glanced  at  each  other  and  made 
simultaneous  grunts.    Then  Mr.  Quarterpage  spoke. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  original  fifty  burgess  tickets  of  Mar- 
ket Milcaster,  young  sir,  which  gave  its  holder  special 
and  greatly  valued  privileges  in  respect  to  attendance  at 
our  once  famous  race-meeting,  now  unfortunately  a  thing 
of  the  past,"  he  added.  "Fifty — aye,  forty! — years 
ago,  to  be  in  possession  of  one  of  those  tickets  was — 
was  " 

"A  grand  thing!"  said  one  of  the  old  gentlemen. 

"Mr.  Lummis  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "It 
was  a  grand  thing — a  very  grand  thing.  Those  tickets, 
sir,  were  treasured — are  treasured.  And  yet  you,  a 
stranger,  show  us  one!    You  got  it,  sir  " 


152     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Spargo  saw  that  it  was  now  necessary  to  cut  matters 
short. 

"I  found  this  ticket — under  mysterious  circumstances 
— in  London/ 7  he  answered.  "I  want  to  trace  it.  I 
want  to  know  who  its  original  owner  was.  That  is  why 
I  have  come  to  Market  Milcaster. ' ' 

Mr.  Quarterpage  slowly  looked  round  the  circle  of 
faces. 

" Wonderful!"  he  said.  "Wonderful!  He  found 
this  ticket — one  of  our  famous  fifty — in  London,  and 
under  mysterious  circumstances.  He  wants  to  trace  it — 
lie  wants  to  know  to  whom  it  belonged!  That  is  why 
he  has  come  to  Market  Milcaster.  Most  extraordinary  ! 
Gentlemen,  I  appeal  to  you  if  this  is  not  the  most  ex- 
traordinary event  that  has  happened  in  Market  Milcaster 
for — I  don 't  know  how  many  years  ? ' ' 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  assent,  and  Spargo 
found  everybody  looking  at  him  as  if  he  had  just  an- 
nounced that  he  had  come  to  buy  the  whole  town. 

"But — why?"  he  asked,  showing  great  surprise. 
"Why?" 

"Why?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Why?  He 
asks — why?  Because,  young  gentleman,  it  is  the  great- 
est surprise  to  me,  and  to  these  friends  of  mine,  too, 
every  man  jack  of  'em,  to  hear  that  any  one  of  our  fifty 
tickets  ever  passed  out  of  the  possession  of  any  of  the 
fifty  families  to  whom  they  belonged!  And  unless  I 
am  vastly,  greatly,  most  unexplainably  mistaken,  young 
sir,  you  are  not  a  member  of  any  Market  Milcaster 
family. ' ' 

"No,  I'm  not,"  admitted  Spargo.    And  he  was  going 


MR.  QUARTERPAGE  HARKS  BACK  153 

to  add  that  until  the  previous  evening  he  had  never  even 
heard  of  Market  Milcaster,  but  he  wisely  refrained. 
''No,  I'm  certainly  not,"  he  added. 

Mr.  Quarterpage  waved  his  long  pipe. 

"I  believe,"  he  said,  "I  believe  that  if  the  evening 
were  not  drawing  to  a  close — it  is  already  within  a  few 
minutes  of  our  departure,  young  gentleman — I  believe, 
I  say,  that  if  I  had  time,  I  could,  from  memory,  give 
the  names  of  the  fifty  families  who  held  those  tickets 
when  the  race-meeting  came  to  an  end.  I  believe  I 
could!" 

"  I 'm  sure  you  could ! ' '  asserted  the  little  man  in  the 
loud  suit.  "Never  was  such  a  memory  as  yours, 
never ! ' ■ 

"Especially  for  anything  relating  to  the  old  racing 
matters,"  said  the  fat  man.  "Mr.  Quarterpage  is  a 
walking  encyclopaedia." 

"My  memory  is  good,"  said  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "It's 
the  greatest  blessing  I  have  in  my  declining  years. 
Yes,  I  am  sure  I  could  do  that,  with  a  little  thought. 
And  what's  more,  nearly  every  one  of  those  fifty  families 
is  still  in  the  town,  or  if  not  in  the  town,  close  by  it,  or 
if  not  close  by  it,  I  know  where  they  are.  Therefore,  I 
cannot  make  out  how  this  young  gentleman — from  Lon- 
don, did  you  say,  sir?" 

"From  London,"  answered  Spargo. 

"This  young  gentleman  from  London  comes  to  be 
in  possession  of  one  of  our  tickets,"  continued  Mr. 
Quarterpage.  "It  is — wonderful !  But  I  tell  you  what, 
young  gentleman  from  London,  if  you  will  do  me  the 
honour  to  breakfast  with  me  in  the  morning,  sir,  I  will 


154     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


show  you  my  racing  books  and  papers  and  we  will 
speedily  discover  who  the  original  holder  of  that  ticket 
was.  My  name,  sir,  is  Quarterpage — Benjamin  Quar- 
terage— and  I  reside  at  the  ivy-covered  house  exactly 
opposite  this  inn,  and  my  breakfast  hour  is  nine  o  'clock 
sharp,  and  I  shall  bid  you  heartily  welcome!" 
Spargo  made  his  best  bow. 

"Sir/'  he  said,  UI  am  greatly  obliged  by  your  kind 
invitation,  and  I  shall  consider  it  an  honour  to  wait 
upon  you  to  the  moment." 

Accordingly,  at  five  minutes  to  nine  next  morning, 
Spargo  found  himself  in  an  old-fashioned  parlour,  look- 
ing out  upon  a  delightful  garden,  gay  with  summer  flow- 
ers, and  being  introduced  by  Mr.  Quarterpage,  Senior, 
to  Mr.  Quarterpage,  Junior — a  pleasant  gentleman  of 
sixty,  always  referred  to  by  his  father  as  something 
quite  juvenile — and  to  Miss  Quarterpage,  a  young-old 
lady  of  something  a  little  less  elderly  than  her  brother, 
and  to  a  breakfast  table  bounteously  spread  with  all  the 
choice  fare  of  the  season.  Mr.  Quarterpage,  Senior,  was 
as  fresh  and  rosy  as  a  cherub;  it  was  a  revelation  to 
Spargo  to  encounter  so  old  a  man  who  was  still  in  pos- 
session of  such  life  and  spirits,  and  of  such  a  vigorous 
and  healthy  appetite. 

Naturally,  the  talk  over  the  breakfast  table  ran  on 
Spargo 's  possession  of  the  old  silver  ticket,  upon  which 
subject  it  was  evident  Mr.  Quarterpage  was  still  exer- 
cising his  intellect.  And  Spargo,  who  had  judged  it  well 
to  enlighten  his  host  as  to  who  he  was,  and  had  exhibited 
a  letter  with  which  the  editor  of  the  Watchman  had  fur- 
nished him,  told  how  in  the  exercise  of  his  journalistic 


MR.  QUARTERPAGE  HARKS  BACK  155 


duties  he  had  discovered  the  ticket  in  the  lining  of  an 
old  box.  But  he  made  no  mention  of  the  Marbury  mat- 
ter, being  anxious  to  see  first  whither  Mr.  Quarterage's 
revelations  would  lead  him. 

"You  have  no  idea,  Mr.  Spargo,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, when,  breakfast  over,  he  and  Spargo  were  closeted 
together  in  a  little  library  in  which  were  abundant  evi- 
dences of  the  host's  taste  in  sporting  matters;  "you  have 
no  idea  of  the  value  which  was  attached  to  the  possession 
of  one  of  those  silver  tickets.  There  is  mine,  as  you  see, 
securely  framed  and  just  as  securely  fastened  to  the  wall. 
Those  fifty  silver  tickets,  my  dear  sir,  were  made  when 
our  old  race-meeting  was  initiated,  in  the  year  1781. 
They  were  made  in  the  town  by  a  local  silversmith, 
whose  great-great-grandson  still  carries  on  the  business. 
The  fifty  were  distributed  amongst  the  fifty  leading 
burgesses  of  the  town  to  be  kept  in  their  families  for 
ever — nobody  ever  anticipated  in  those  days  that  our 
race-meeting  would  ever  be  discontinued.  The  ticket 
carried  great  privileges.  It  made  its  holder,  and  all 
members  of  his  family,  male  and  female,  free  of  the 
stands,  rings,  and  paddocks^  It  gave  the  holder  him- 
self and  his  eldest  son,  if  of  age,  the  right  to  a  seat  at 
our  grand  race  banquet — at  which,  I  may  tell  you,  Mr. 
Spargo,  Royalty  itself  has  been  present  in  the  good  old 
days.  Consequently,  as  you  see,  to  be  the  holder  of  a 
silver  ticket  was  to  be  somebody. ' ' 

"And  when  the  race-meeting  fell  through?"  asked 
Spargo.    "What  then?" 

"Then,  of  course,  the  families  who  held  the  tickets 
looked  upon  them  as  heirlooms,  to  be  taken  great  care 


156     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


of,"  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "They  were  dealt  with 
as  I  dealt  with  mine — framed  on  velvet,  and  hung  up — 
or  locked  away:  I  am  sure  that  anybody  who  had  one 
took  the  greatest  care  of  it.  Now,  I  said  last  night,  over 
there  at  the  'Dragon/  that  I  could  repeat  the  names  of 
all  the  families  who  held  these  tickets.  So  I  can.  But 
here" — the  old  gentleman  drew  out  a  drawer  and  pro- 
duced from  it  a  parchment-bound  book  which  he  han- 
dled with  great  reverence — "here  is  a  little  volume  of 
my  own  handwriting — memoranda  relating  to  Market 
Milcaster  Races — in  which  is  a  list  of  the  original  hold- 
ers, together  with  another  list  showing  who  held  the 
tickets  when  the  races  were  given  up.  I  make  bold  to 
say,  Mr.  Spargo,  that  by  going  through  the  second  list, 
I  could  trace  every  ticket — except  the  one  you  have  in 
your  purse. ' ' 

"Every  one?"  said  Spargo,  in  some  surprise. 

"Every  one!  For  as  I  told  you,"  continued  Mr. 
Quarterpage,  "the  families  are  either  in  the  town  (we're 
a  conservative  people  here  in  Market  Milcaster  and  we 
don't  move  far  afield)  or  they're  just  outside  the  town, 
or  they're  not  far  away.  I  can't  conceive  how  the  ticket 
you  have — and  it  's  genuine  enough — could  ever  get  out 
of  possession  of  one  of  these  families,  and  " 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Spargo,  "it  never  has  been  out 
of  possession.  I  told  you  it  was  found  in  the  lining  of  a 
box — that  box  belonged  to  a  dead  man." 

"A  dead  man!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "A 
dead  man !  Who  could — ah !  Perhaps — perhaps  I  have 
an  idea.  Yes! — an  idea.  I  remember  something  now 
that  I  had  never  thought  of." 


MR.  QUARTERPAGE  HARKS  BACK  15T 


The  old  gentleman  unfastened  the  clasp  of  his  parch- 
ment-bound book,  and  turned  over  its  pages  until  he 
came  to  one  whereon  was  a  list  of  names.  He  pointed 
this  out  to  Spargo. 

' '  There  is  the  list  of  holders  of  the  silver  tickets  at 
the  time  the  race-meetings  came  to  an  end,"  he  said. 
' i  If  you  were  acquainted  with  this  town  you  would  know 
that  those  are  the  names  of  our  best-known  inhabitants — 
all,  of  course,  burgesses.  There's  mine,  you  see — Quar- 
terage. There's  Lummis,  there's  Kaye,  there's  Skene, 
there's  Templeby — the  gentlemen  you  saw  last  night. 
All  good  old  town  names.  They  all  are — on  this  list. 
I  know  every  family  mentioned.  The  holders  of  that 
time  are  many  of  them  dead;  but  their  successors  have 
the  tickets.  Yes — and  now  that  I  think  of  it,  there's 
only  one  man  who  held  a  ticket  when  this  list  was  made 
about  whom  I  don't  know  anything — at  least,  anything 
recent/  The  ticket,  Mr.  Spargo,  which  you've  found 
must  have  been  his.  But  I  thought — I  thought  some- 
body else  had  it ! " 

"And  this  man,  sir?  Who  was  he?"  asked  Spargo, 
intuitively  conscious  that  he  was  coming  to  news.  "Is 
his  name  there  ? ' ' 

The  old  man  ran  the  tip  of  his  finger  down  the  list  of 
names. 

"There  it  is!"  he  said.    "John  Maitland." 

Spargo  bent  over  the  fine  writing. 

"Yes,  John  Maitland,"  he  observed.  "And  who  was 
John  Maitland?" 

Mr.  Quarterpage  shook  his  head.  He  turned  to  an- 
other of  the  many  drawers  in  an  ancient  bureau,  and 


158     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


began  to  search  amongst  a  mass  of  old  newspapers,  care- 
fully sorted  into  small  bundles  and  tied  up. 

4  4  If  you  had  lived  in  Market  Milcaster  one-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  Mr.  Spargo,"  he  said,  "you  would 
have  known  who  John  Maitland  was.  For  some  time, 
sir,  he  was  the  best-known  man  in  the  place — aye,  and 
in  this  corner  of  the  world.  But — aye,  here  it  is — the 
newspaper  of  October  5th,  1891.  Now,  Mr.  Spargo, 
you'll  find  in  this  old  newspaper  who  John  Maitland 
was,  and  all  about  him.  Now,  111  tell  you  what  to  do. 
I've  just  got  to  go  into  my  office  for  an  hour  to  talk 
the  day's  business  over  with  my  son — you  take  this  news- 
paper out  into  the  garden  there  with  one  of  these  cigars, 
and  read  what '11  you  find  in  it,  and  when  you've  read 
that  we'll  have  some  more  talk." 

Spargo  carried  the  old  newspaper  into  the  sunlit 
garden. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 


AN  OLD  NEWSPAPER 

As  soon  as  Spargo  unfolded  the  paper  he  saw  what 
he  wanted  on  the  middle  page,  headed  in  two  lines  of  big 
capitals.    He  lighted  a  cigar  and  settled  down  to  read. 

"Market  Milcaster  Quarter  Sessions 
"Trial,  of  John  Maitland 

"The  Quarter  Sessions  for  the  Borough  of  Market 
Milcaster  were  held  on  Wednesday  last,  October  3rd, 
1891,  in  the  Town  Hall,  before  the  Eecorder,  Henry 
John  Campernowne,  Esq.,  K.C.,  who  was  accompanied 
on  the  bench  by  the  Worshipful  the  Mayor  of  Market 
Milcaster  (Alderman  Pettiford),  the  Vicar  of  Market 
Milcaster  (the  Kev.  P.  B.  Clabberton,  M.A.,  R.D.), 
Alderman  Danks,  J.P.,  Alderman  Peters,  J.P.,  Sir 
Gervais  Racton,  J.P.,  Colonel  Fludgate,  J.  P.,  Captain 
Murrill,  J.P.,  and  other  magistrates  and  gentlemen. 
There  was  a  crowded  attendance  of  the  public  in  an- 
ticipation of  the  trial  of  John  Maitland,  ex-manager 
of  the  Market  Milcaster  Bank,  and  the  reserved  por- 
tions of  the  Court  were  filled  with  the  elite  of  the  town 
and  neighbourhood,  including  a  considerable  number 
of  ladies  who  manifested  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
proceedings. 

159 


160     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"The  Recorder,  in  charging  the  Grand  Jury,  said 
he  regretted  that  the  very  pleasant  and  gratifying 
experience  which  had  been  his  upon  the  occasion  of 
his  last  two  official  visits  to  Market  Milcaster — he  re- 
ferred to  the  fact  that  on  both  those  occasions  his 
friend  the  Worshipful  Mayor  had  been  able  to  present 
him  with  a  pair  of  white  gloves — was  not  to  be  re- 
peated on  the  present  occasion.  It  would  be  their  sad 
and  regrettable  lot  to  have  before  them  a  fellow- 
townsman  whose  family  had  for  generations  occupied 
a  foremost  position  in  the  life  of  the  borough.  That 
fellow-townsman  was  charged  with  one  of  the  most 
serious  offences  known  to  a  commercial  nation  like 
ours :  the  offence  of  embezzling  the  moneys  of  the  bank 
of  which  he  had  for  many  years  been  the  trusted  man- 
ager, and  with  which  he  had  been  connected  all  his  life 
since  his  school  days.  He  understood  that  the  prisoner 
who  would  shortly  be  put  before  the  court  on  his  trial 
was  about  to  plead  guilty,  and  there  would  accordingly 
be  no  need  for  him  to  direct  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Grand  Jury  on  this  matter — what  he  had  to  say  re- 
specting the  gravity  and  even  enormity  of  the  offence 
he  would  reserve.  The  Recorder  then  addressed  him- 
self to  the  Grand  Jury  on  the  merits  of  two  minor 
cases,  which  came  before  the  court  at  a  later  period 
of  the  morning,  after  which  they  retired,  and  having 
formally  returned  a  true  bill  against  the  prisoner,  and 
a  petty  jury,  chosen  from  well-known  burgesses  of 
the  town  having  been  duly  sworn, 

"John  Maitland,  aged  42,  bank  manager,  of  the 
Bank  House,  High  Street,  Market  Milcaster,  was  for- 


AN  OLD  NEWSPAPER  161 


mally  charged  with  embezzling,  on  April  23rd,  1891, 
the  sum  of  £4,875  10s,  6d.,  the  moneys  of  his  em- 
ployers, the  Market  Milcaster  Banking  Company  Ltd., 
and  converting  the  same  to  his  own  use.  The  pris- 
oner, who  appeared  to  feel  his  position  most  acutely, 
and  who  looked  very  pale  and  much  worn,  was  repre- 
sented by  Mr.  Charles  Doolittle,  the  well-known  bar- 
rister of  Kingshaven;  Mr.  Stephens,  K.C.,  appeared 
on  behalf  of  the  prosecution. 

"Maitland,  upon  being  charged,  pleaded  guilty. 

"Mr.  Stephens,  K.C.?  addressing  the  Recorder,  said 
that  without  any  desire  to  unduly  press  upon  the  pris- 
oner, wrho,  he  ventured  to  think,  had  taken  a  very  wise 
course  in  pleading  guilty  to  that  particular  count  in 
the  indictment  with  which  he  stood  charged,  he  felt 
bound,  in  the  interests  of  justice,  to  set  forth  to  the 
Court  some  particulars  of  the  defalcations  which  had 
arisen  through  the  prisoner's  much  lamented  dis- 
honesty. He  proposed  to  offer  a  clear  and  succinct 
account  of  the  matter.  The  prisoner.,  John  Maitland, 
was  the  last  of  an  old  Market  Milcaster  family — he 
was,  in  fact,  he  believed,  with  the  exception  of  his  own 
infant  son,  the  very  last  of  the  race.  His  father  had 
been  manager  of  the  bank  before  him.  Maitland  him- 
self had  entered  the  service  of  the  bank  at  the  age 
of  eighteen,  when  he  left  the  local  Grammar  School; 
he  succeeded  his  father  as  manager  at  the  age  of 
thirty-two;  he  had  therefore  occupied  this  highest  po* 
sition  of  trust  for  ten  years.  His  directors  had  the 
fullest  confidence  in  him;  they  relied  on  his  honesty 
and  his  honour;  they  gave  him  discretionary  powers 


162     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

such  as  no  bank-manager,  probably,  ever  enjoyed  or 
held  before.  In  fact,  he  was  so  trusted  that  he  was, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  Market  Mileaster  Bank- 
ing Company;  in  other  words  he  was  allowed  full  con- 
trol over  everything,  and  given  full  licence  to  do  what 
he  liked.  Whether  the  directors  were  wise  in  extend- 
ing such  liberty  to  even  the  most  trusted  servant,  it 
was  not  for  him  (Mr.  Stephens)  to  say;  it  was  some 
consolation,  under  the  circumstances,  to  know  that 
the  loss  would  fall  upon  the  directors,  inasmuch  as 
they  themselves  held  nearly  the  whole  of  the  shares. 
But  he  had  to  speak  of  the  loss — of  the  serious  de- 
falcations which  Maitland  had  committed.  The  pris- 
oner had  wisely  pleaded  guilty  to  the  first  count  of 
the  indictment.  But  there  were  no  less  than  seventeen 
counts  in  the  indictment.  He  had  pleaded  guilty  to 
embezzling  a  sum  of  £4,875  odd.  But  the  total  amount 
of  the  defalcations,  comprised  in  the  seventeen  counts, 
was  no  less — it  seemed  a  most  amazing  sum ! — than 
£221.573  Si?.  6cZ. !  There  was  the  fact — the  banking 
company  had  been  robbed  of  over  two  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  by  the  prisoner  in  the  dock  before  a  mere 
accident,  the  most  trifling  chance,  had  revealed  to  the 
astounded  directors  that  he  was  robbing  them  at  all. 
And  the  most  serious  feature  of  the  whole  case  was 
that  not  one  penny  of  this  money  had  been,  or  ever 
could  be,  recovered.  He  believed  that  the  prisoner's 
learned  counsel  was  i/bout  to  urge  upon  the  Court  that 
the  prisoner  himself  had  been  tricked  and  deceived  by 
another  man.  unfortunately  not  before  the  Court — a 
man.  he  understood,  also  well  known  in  Market  Mil- 


AN  OLD  NEWSPAPER  163 


caster,  who  was  now  dead,  and  therefore  could  not  be 
called,  but  whether  he  was  so  tricked  or  deceived  was 
no  excuse  for  his  clever  and  wholesale  robbing  of  his 
employers.  He  had  thought  it  necessary  to  put  these 
facts — which  would  not  be  denied — before  the  Court, 
in  order  that  it  might  be  known  how  heavy  the  defal- 
cations really  had  been,  and  that  they  should  be  con- 
sidered in  dealing  with  the  prisoner. 

"The  Recorder  asked  if  there  was  no  possibility  of 
recovering  any  part  of  the  vast  sum  concerned. 

"Mr.  Stephens  replied  that  they  were  informed  that 
there  was  not  the  remotest  chance — the  money,  it  was 
said  by  prisoner  and  those  acting  on  his  behalf,  had 
utterly  vanished  with  the  death  of  the  man  to  whom 
he  had  just  made  reference. 

"Mr.  Doolittle,  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  craved  to 
address  a  few  words  to  the  Court  in  mitigation  of  sen- 
tence. He  thanked  Mr.  Stephens  for  the  considerate 
and  eminently  dispassionate  manner  in  which  he  had 
outlined  the  main  facts  of  the  case.  He  had  no  de- 
sire to  minimize  the  prisoner's  guilt.  But,  on  pris- 
oner's behalf,  he  desired  to  tell  the  true  sto^  as 
to  how  these  things  came  to  be.  Until  as  recently 
as  three  years  previously  the  prisoner  had  never 
made  the  slightest  deviation  from  the  straight  path 
of  integrity.  Unfortunately  for  him,  and,  he  be- 
lieved, for  some  others  in  Market  Milcaster,  there 
came  to  the  town  three  years  before  the  present 
proceedings,  a  man  named  Chamberlayne,  who  com- 
menced business  in  the  High  Street  as  a  stock-and- 
share  broker.    A  man  of  good  address  and  the  most 


161     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


plausible  manners.  Chaniberlayne  attracted  a  good 
many  people — amongst  them  his  unfortunate  client. 
It  was  matter  of  common  knowledge  that  Chaniber- 
layne had  induced  numerous  persons  in  Market  Mil- 
caster  to  enter  into  financial  transactions  with  him; 
it  was  matter  of  common  repute  that  those  transac- 
tions had  not  always  turned  out  well  for  Chaniber- 
layne's  clients.  Unhappily  for  himself,  Maitland  had 
great  faith  in  Chamberlayne.  He  had  begun  to  have 
transactions  with  him  in  a  large  way ;  they  had  gone  on 
and  on  in  a  large  way  until  he  was  involved  to  vast 
amounts.  Believing  thoroughly  in  Chamberlayne  and 
his  methods,  he  had  entrusted  him  with  very  large 
sums  of  money. 

''The  Recorder  interrupted  Mr.  Doolittle  at  this 
point  to  ask  if  he  was  to  understand  that  Mr.  Doo- 
little was  referring  to  the  prisoner's  own  money. 

"Mr.  Doolittle  replied  that  he  was  afraid  the  large 
sums  he  referred  to  were  the  property  of  the  bank. 
But  the  prisoner  had  such  belief  in  Chamberlayne  that 
he  firmly  anticipated  that  all  would  be  well,  and  that 
these  sums  would  be  rep*aid;  and  that  a  vast  profit 
would  result  from  their  use. 

''The  Recorder  remarked  that  he  supposed  the  pris- 
oner intended  to  put  the  profit  into  his  own  pockets. 

"Mr.  Doolittle  said  at  any  rate  the  prisoner  as* 
sured  him  that  of  the  two  hundred  and  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  which  was  in  question.  Chamberlayne 
had  had  the  immediate  handling  of  at  least  two  hun- 
dred thousand,  and  he,  the  prisoner,  had  not  the  ghost 
of  a  notion  as  to  what  Chamberlayne  had  done  with  it 


AN  OLD  NEWSPAPER 


165 


Unfortunately  for  everybody,  for  the  bank,  for  some 
other  people,  and  especially  for  his  unhappy  client, 
Chamberlayne  died,  very  suddenly,  just  as  these  pro- 
ceedings were  instituted,  and  so  far  it  had  been  ab- 
solutely impossible  to  trace  anything  of  the  moneys 
concerned.  He  had  died  under  mysterious  circum- 
stances, and  there  was  just  as  much  mystery  about  his 
affairs. 

"The  Recorder  observed  that  he  was  still  waiting 
to  hear  what  Mr.  Doolittle  had  to  urge  in  mitigation 
of  any  sentence  he,  the  Recorder,  might  think  fit  to 
pass. 

"Mr.  Doolittle  said  that  he  would  trouble  the  Court 
with  as  few  remarks  as  possible.  All  that  he  could 
urge  on  behalf  of  the  unfortunate  man  in  the  dock 
was  that  until  three  years  ago  he  had  borne  a  most 
exemplary  character,  and  had  never  committed  a  dis- 
honest action.  It  had  been  his  misfortune,  his  folly, 
to  allow  a  plausible  man  to  persuade  him  to  these  acts 
of  dishonesty.  That  man  had  been  called  to  another 
account,  and  the  prisoner  was  left  to  bear  the  conse- 
quences of  his  association  with  him.  It  seemed  as  if 
Chamberlayne  had  made  away  with  the  money  for  his 
own  purposes,  and  it  might  be  that  it  would  yet  be 
recovered.  He  would  only  ask  the  Court  to  remember 
the  prisoner's  antecedents  and  his  previous  good  con- 
duct, and  to  bear  in  mind  that  whatever  his  near  fu- 
ture might  be  he  was,  in  a  commercial  sense,  ruined 
for  life. 

"The  Recorder,  in  passing  sentence,  said  that  he 
had  not  heard  a  single  word  of  valid  excuse  for  Mait- 


166     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


land's  conduct.  Such  dishonesty  must  be  punished 
in  the  most  severe  fashion,  and  the  prisoner  must  go 
to  penal  servitude  for  ten  years. 

"Maitland,  who  heard  the  sentence  unmoved,  was 
removed  from  the  town  later  in  the  day  to  the  county 
jail  at  Saxchester." 

Spargo  read  all  this  swiftly;  then  went  over  it  again, 
noting  certain  points  in  it.  At  last  he  folded  up  the 
newspaper  and  turned  to  the  house — to  see  old  Quar 
terpage  beckoning  to  him  from  the  library  window. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 


THE  CHAMBEKLAYNE  STORY 

"I  perceive,  sir/'  said  Mr.  Quarterpage,  as  Spargo 
entered  the  library,  "that  you  have  read  the  account  of 
the  Maitland  trial.' ' 

"Twice/'  replied  Spargo. 

"And  you  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that — but  what 
conclusion  have  you  come  to?"  asked  Mr.  Quarterpage. 

"That  the  silver  ticket  in  my  purse  was  Maitland 's 
property,"  said  Spargo,  who  was  not  going  to  give  all 
his  conclusions  at  once. 

"Just  so,"  agreed  the  old  gentleman.  "I  think  so — 
I  can't  think  anything  else.  But  I  was  under  the  im- 
pression that  I  could  have  accounted  for  that  ticket, 
just  as  I  am  surfe  I  can  account  for  the  other  forty-nine. ' ' 

"Yes — and  how?"  asked  Spargo. 

Mr.  Quarterpage  turned  to  a  corner  cupboard  and  in 
silence  produced  a  decanter  and  two  curiously-shaped 
old  wine-glasses.  He  carefully  polished  the  glasses  with 
a  cloth  which  he  took  from  a  drawer,  and  set  glasses  and 
decanter  on  a  table  in  the  window,  motioning  Spargo  to 
take  a  chair  in  proximity  thereto.  He  himself  p  Jled 
up  his  own  elbow-chair. 

"We'll  take  a  glass  of  my  old  brown  sherry,"  he  said. 
167 


168     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Though  I  say  it  as  shouldn't,  as  the  saying  goes,  I 
don't  think  you  could  find  better  brown  sherry  than  that 
from  Land's  End  to  Berwick-upon-Tweed,  Mr.  Spargo — 
no,  nor  further  north  either,  where  they  used  to  have 
good  taste  in  liquor  in  my  young  days!  "Well,  here's 
your  good  health,  sir,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  Maitland." 

"I'm  curious,"  said  Spargo.  "And  about  more  than 
Maitland.  I  want  to  know  about  a  lot  of  things  arising 
out  of  that  newspaper  report.  I  want  to  know  something 
about  the  man  referred  to  so  much — the  stockbroker, 
Chamberlayne." 

"Just  so,"  observed  Mr.  Quarterpage,  smiling.  "I 
thought  that  would  touch  your  sense  of  the  inquisitive. 
But  Maitland  first.  Now,  wThen  Maitland  went  to  prison, 
he  left  behind  him  a  child,  a  boy,  just  then  about  two 
years  old.  The  child's  mother  was  dead.  Her  sister, 
a  Miss  Baylis,  appeared  on  the  scene — Maitland  had 
married  his  wife  from  a  distance — and  took  possession 
of  the  child  and  of  Maitland 's  personal  effects.  He  had 
been  made  bankrupt  while  he  was  awaiting  his  trial,  and 
all  his  household  goods  were  sold.  But  this  Miss  Baylis 
took  some  small  personal  things,  and  I  always  believed 
that  she  took  the  silver  ticket.  And  she  may  have  done, 
for  anything  I  know  to  the  contrary.  Anyway,  she  took 
the  child  away,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the  Maitland 
family  in  Market  Milcaster.  Maitland,  of  course,  was 
in  due  procedure  of  things  removed  to  Dartmoor,  and 
there  he  served  his  term.  There  were  people  who  were 
very  anxious  to  get  hold  of  him  when  he  came  out — the 
hank  people,  for  they  believed  that  he  knew  more  about 
the  disposition  of  that  money  than  he'd  ever  told,  and 


THE  CHAMBERLAYNE  STORY  169 


they  wanted  to  induce  him  to  tell  what  they  hoped  he 
knew — between  ourselves,  Mr.  Spargo,  they  were  going 
to  make  it  worth  his  while  to  tell." 

Spargo  tapped  the  newspaper,  which  he  had  retained 
while  the  old  gentleman  talked. 

4 '  Then  they  didn 't  believe  what  his  counsel  said — that 
Chamberlayne  got  all  the  money?"  he  asked. 

Mr,  Quarterpage  laughed. 

"No — nor  anybody  else!"  he  answered.  "There  was 
a  strong  idea  in  the  town — you'll  see  why  afterwards — 
that  it  was  all  a  put-up  job,  and  that  Maitland  cheer- 
fully underwent  his  punishment  knowing  that  there  was 
a  nice  fortune  waiting  for  him  when  he  came  out.  And 
as  I  say,  the  bank  people  meant  to  get  hold  of  him.  But 
though  they  sent  a  special  agent  to  meet  him  on  his  re- 
lease, they  never  did  get  hold  of  him.  Some  mistake 
arose — when  Maitland  was  released,  he  got  clear  away. 
Nobody's  ever  heard  a  word  of  him  from  that  day  to 
this.    Unless  Miss  Baylis  has." 

"Where  does  this  Miss  Baylis  live?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage. 
"She  did  live  in  Brighton  when  she  took  the  child  away, 
and  her  address  was  known,  and  I  have  it  somewhere. 
But  when  the  bank  people  sought  her  out  after  Mait- 
land 's  release,  she,  too,  had  clean  disappeared,  and  all 
efforts  to  trace  her  failed.  In  fact,  according  to  the 
folks  who  lived  near  her  in  Brighton,  she'd  completely 
disappeared,  with  the  child,  five  years  before.  So  there 
wasn't  a  clue  to  Maitland.  He  served  his  time — made  a 
model  prisoner — they  did  find  that  much  out! — earned 
the  maximum  remission,  was  released,  and  vanished. 


170     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


And  for  that  very  reason  there's  a  theory  about  him  in 
this  very  town  to  this  very  day!" 
"What!"  asked  Spargo. 

' 1 This.  That  he's  now  living  comfortably,  luxuri- 
ously abroad  on  what  he  got  from  the  bank,"  replied 
Mr.  Quarterpage.  "They  say  that  the  sister-in-law  was 
in  at  the  game ;  that  when  she  disappeared  with  the  child, 
she  went  abroad  somewhere  and  made  a  home  ready  for 
Maitland,  and  that  he  went  off  to  them  as  soon  as  he 
came  out.    Do  you  see?" 

"I  suppose  that  was  possible,"  said  Spargo. 

" Quite  possible,  sir.  But  now,"  continued  the  old 
gentleman,  replenishing  the  glasses,  "now  we  come  on 
to  the  Chamberlayne  story.  It's  a  good  deal  more  to 
do  with  the  Maitland  story  than  appears  at  first  sight. 
I  '11  tell  it  to  you  and  you  can  form  your  own  conclusions. 
Chamberlayne  was  a  man  who  came  to  Market  Milcaster 
— I  don't  know  from  where — in  1886 — five  years  before 
the  Maitland  smash-up.  He  was  then  about  Maitland 's 
age — a  man  of  thirty-seven  or  eight.  He  came  as  clerk 
to  old  Mr.  Vallas,  the  rope  and  twine  manufacturer: 
Vallas's  place  is  still  there,  at  the  bottom  of  the  High 
Street,  near  the  river,  though  old  Vallas  is  dead.  He 
was  a  smart,  cute,  pushing  chap,  this  Chamberlayne;  he 
made  himself  indispensable  to  old  Vallas,  and  old  Vallas 
paid  him  a  rare  good  salary.  He  settled  down  in  the 
town,  and  he  married  a  town  girl,  one  of  the  Corkin- 
dales,  the  saddlers,  when  he'd  been  here  three  years. 
Unfortunately  she  died  in  childbirth  within  a  year  of 
their  marriage.  It  was  very  soon  after  that  that  Cham- 
berlayne threw  up  his  post  at  Vallas's,  and  started  busi- 


THE  CHAMBERLAYNE  STORY  171 

ness  as  a  stock-and-sbare  broker.  He'd  been  a  saving 
man;  he'd  got  a  nice  bit  of  money  with  his  wife;  he  al- 
ways let  it  be  known  that  he  had  money  of  his  own,  and 
he  started  in  a  good  way.  He  was  a  man  of  the  most 
plausible  manners;  he'd  have  coaxed  butter  out  of  a 
dog's  throat  if  he'd  wanted  to.  The  moneyed  men  of 
the  town  believed  in  him — I  believed  in  him  myself,  Mr. 
Spargo — I'd  many  a  transaction  with  him,  and  I  never 
lost  aught  by  him — on  the  contrary,  he  did  very  well 
for  me.  He  did  well  for  most  of  his  clients — there  were, 
of  course,  ups  and  downs,  but  on  the  whole  he  satisfied 
his  clients  uncommonly  well.  But,  naturally,  nobody 
ever  knew  what  was  going  on  between  him  and  Mait- 
land." 

"I  gather  from  this  report,"  said  Spargo,  "that  every- 
thing came  out  suddenly — unexpectedly?" 

"That  was  so,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Sud- 
den? Unexpected?  Aye,  as  a  crack  of  thunder  on  a 
fine  winter's  day.  Nobody  had  the  ghost  of  a  notion 
that  anything  was  wrong.  John  Maitland  was  much 
respected  in  the  town;  much  thought  of  by  everybody; 
well  known  to  everybody.  I  can  assure  you,  Mr.  Spargo, 
that  it  was  no  pleasant  thing  to  have  to  sit  on  that  grand 
jury  as  I  did — I  was  its  foreman,  sir, — and  hear  a  man 
*  sentenced  that  you'd  regarded  as  a  bosom  friend.  But 
there  it  was!" 

"How  was  the  thing  discovered?"  asked  Spargo,  anx- 
ious to  get  at  facts. 

"In  this  way,"  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "The  Mar- 
ket Milcaster  Bank  is  in  reality  almost  entirely  the  prop- 
erty of  two  old  families  in  the  town,  the  Gutchbys  and 


172     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


the  Hostables.  Owing  to  the  death  of  his  father,  a  young 
Hostable,  fresh  from  college,  came  into  the  business. 
He  was  a  shrewd,  keen  young  fellow;  he  got  some  sus- 
picion, somehow,  about  Maitland,  and  he  insisted  on  the 
other  partners  consenting  to  a  special  investigation,  and 
on  their  making  it  suddenly.  And  Maitland  was  caught 
before  he  had  a  chance.  But  we're  talking  about  Cham- 
berlayne. ' ' 

"Yes,  about  Chamberlayne,,?  agreed  Spargo. 

"Well,  now,  Maitland  was  arrested  one  evening,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Of  course,  the  news  of  his 
arrest  ran  through  the  town  like  wild-fire.  Everybody 
was  astonished ;  he  was  at  that  time — aye,  and  had  been 
for  years — a  churchwarden  at  the  Parish  Church,  and  I 
don't  think  there  could  have  been  more  surprise  if  we'd 
heard  that  the  Vicar  had  been  arrested  for  bigamy.  In 
a  little  town  like  this,  news  is  all  over  the  place  in  a  few 
minutes.  Of  course,  Chamberlayne  would  hear  that 
news  like  everybody  else.  But  it  was  remembered,  and 
often  remarked  upon  afterwards,  that  from  the  moment 
of  Maitland 's  arrest  nobody  in  Market  Milcaster  ever 
had  speech  with  Chamberlayne  again.  After  his  wife's 
death  he'd  taken  to  spending  an  hour  or  so  of  an  eve- 
ning across  there  at  the  'Dragon/  where  you  saw  me 
and  my  friends  last  night,  but  on  that  night  he  didn't 
go  to  the  1 Dragon.'  And  next  morning  he  caught  the 
eight  o'clock  train  to  London.  He  happened  to  remark 
to  the  stationmaster  as  he  got  into  the  train  that  he  ex- 
pected to  be  back  late  that  night,  and  that  he  should 
have  a  tiring  day  of  it.  But  Chamberlayne  didn't  come 
back  that  night,  Mr.  Spargo.    He  didn't  come  back  to 


THE  CHAMBERLAYNE  STORY  173 


Market  Milcaster  for  four  days,  and  when  he  did  come 
back  it  was  in  a  coffin ! ' ' 

"Dead?"  exclaimed  Spargo.    "That  was  sudden !" 

"Very  sudden/'  agreed  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Yes,  sir, 
he  came  back  in  his  coffin,  did  Chamberlayne.  On  the 
very  evening  on  which  he'd  spoken  of  being  back,  there 
came  a  telegram  here  to  say  that  he'd  died  very  sud- 
denly at  the  Cosmopolitan  Hotel.  That  telegram  came 
to  his  brother-in-law,  Corkindale,  the  saddler — you'll 
find  him  down  the  street,  opposite  the  Town  Hall.  It 
was  sent  to  Corkindale  by  a  nephew  of  Chamberlayne 's, 
another  Chamberlayne,  Stephen,  who  lived  in  London, 
and  was  understood  to  be  on  the  Stock  Exchange  there. 
I  saw  that  telegram,  Mr.  Spargo,  and  it  was  a  long  one. 
It  said  that  Chamberlayne  had  had  a  sudden  seizure, 
and  though  a  doctor  had  been  got  to  him  he'd  died 
shortly  afterwards.  Now,  as  Chamberlayne  had  his 
nephew  and  friends  in  London,  his  brother-in-law,  Tom 
Corkindale,  didn't  feel  that  there  was  any  necessity  for 
him  to  go  up  to  town,  so  he  just  sent  off  a  wire  to  Stephen 
Chamberlayne  asking  if  there  was  aught  he  could  do. 
And  next  morning  came  another  wire  from  Stephen  say- 
ing that  no  inquest  would  be  necessary,  as  the  doctor  had 
been  present  and  able  to  certify  the  cause  of  death,  and 
would  Corkindale  make  all  arrangements  for  the  funeral 
two  days  later.  You  see,  Chamberlayne  had  bought  a 
vault  in  our  cemetery  when  he  buried  his  wife,  so  natur- 
ally they  wished  to  bury  him  in  it,  with  her." 

Spargo  nodded.  He  was  beginning  to  imagine  all 
sorts  ot  things  and  theories ;  he  was  taking  everything  in. 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Quarterpage,  "on  the  second 


174     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


day  after  that,  they  brought  Chamberlayne's  body  down. 
Three  of  'em  came  with  it — Stephen  Chamberlayne,  the 
doctor  who'd  been  called  in,  and  a  solicitor.  Everything 
was  done  according  to  proper  form  and  usage.  As 
Chamberlayne  had  been  well  known  in  the  town,  a  good 
number  of  townsfolk  met  the  body  at  the  station  and 
followed  it  to  the  cemetery.  Of  course,  many  of  us  who 
had  been  clients  of  Chamberlayne's  were  anxious  to 
know  how  he  had  come  to  such  a  sudden  end.  Accord- 
ing to  Stephen  Chamberlayne's  account,  our  Chamber- 
layne had  wired  to  him  and  to  his  solicitor  to  meet  him  at 
the  Cosmopolitan  to  do  some  business.  They  were  await- 
ing him  there  when  he  arrived,  and  they  had  lunch  to- 
gether. After  that,  they  got  to  their  business  in  a  pri- 
vate room.  Towards  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  Chamber- 
layne was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  though  they  got  a  doc- 
tor to  him  at  once,  he  died  before  evening.  The  doctor 
said  he'd  a  diseased  heart.  Anyhow,  he  was  able  to 
certify  the  cause  of  his  death,  so  there  was  no  inquest 
and  they  buried  him,  as  I  have  told  you. ' ' 

The  old  gentleman  paused  and,  taking  a  sip  at  his 
sherry,  smiled  at  some  reminiscence  which  occurred  to 
him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  presently  going  on,  "of  course,  on 
that  came  all  the  Maitland  revelations,  and  Maitland 
vowed  and  declared  that  Chamberlayne  had  not  only 
had  nearly  all  the  money,  but  that  he  was  absolutely  cer- 
tain that  most  of  it  was  in  his  hands  in  hard  cash.  But 
Chamberlayne,  Mr.  Spargo,  had  left  practically  noth- 
ing. All  that  could  be  traced  was  about  three  or  four 
thousand  pounds.    He'd  left  everything  to  his  nephew, 


THE  CHAMBERLAYNE  STORY  175 


Stephen.  There  wasn't  a  trace,  a  clue  to  the  vast  sums 
with  which  Maitland  had  entrusted  him.  And  then  peo- 
ple began  to  talk,  and  they  said  what  some  of  them  say  to 
this  very  day ! ' ' 

"What's  that!"  asked  Spargo. 

Mr.  Quarterpage  leaned  forward  and  tapped  his  guest 
on  the  arm. 

"That  Chamberlayne  never  did  die,  and  that  that 
coffin  was  weighted  with  lead!"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 


MAITLAND  ALIAS  MARBURY 

This  remarkable  declaration  awoke  such  a  new  con- 
ception of  matters  in  Spargo 's  mind,  aroused  such  in- 
finitely new  possibilities  in  his  imagination,  that  for  a 
full  moment  he  sat  silently  staring  at  his  informant,  who 
chuckled  with  quiet  enjoyment  at  his  visitor's  surprise. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Spargo  at  last,  "that 
there  are  people  in  this  town  who  still  believe  that  the 
coffin  in  your  cemetery  which  is  said  to  contain  Cham- 
berlayne's  body  contains — lead?" 

' '  Lots  of  'em,  my  dear  sir ! ' '  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage. 
"Lots  of  'em!  Go  out  in  the  street  and  asked  the  first 
six  men  you  meet,  and  111  go  bail  that  four  out  of  the 
six  believe  it." 

"Then  why,  in  the  sacred  name  of  common  sense  did 
no  one  ever  take  steps  to  make  certain  ? ' '  asked  Spargo. 
"Why  didn't  they  get  an  order  for  exhumation?" 

"Because  it  was  nobody's  particular  business  to  do 
so,"  answered  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "You  don't  know 
country-town  life,  my  dear  sir.  In  towns  like  Market 
Milcaster  folks  talk  and  gossip  a  great  deal,  but  they're 
always  slow  to  do  anything.  It's  a  case  of  who'll  start 
first — of  initiative.  And  if  they  see  it's  going  to  cost 
anything — then  they'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"But — the  bank  people?"  suggested  Spargo. 
176 


MAITLAND  ALIAS  MARBURY  177 


Mr.  Quarterpage  shook  his  head. 

"They're  amongst  the  lot  who  believe  that  Chamber- 
layne  did  die/'  he  said.  "  They  're  very  old-fashioned, 
conservative-minded  people,  the  Gutchbys  and  the  Host- 
ables,  and  they  accepted  the  version  of  the  nephew,  and 
the  doctor,  and  the  solicitor.  But  now  I  '11  tell  you  some- 
thing about  those  three.  There  was  a  man  here  in  the 
town,  a  gentleman  of  your  own  profession,  who  came  to 
edit  that  paper  you 've  got  on  your  knee.  He  got  Inter- 
ested in  this  Chamberlayne  case,  and  he  began  to  make 
enquiries  with  the  idea  of  getting  hold  of  some  good — 
wThat  do  you  call  it  ? " 

"I  suppose  he'd  call  it  'copy,'  "  said  Spargo. 

"  'Copy' — that  was  his  term,"  agreed  Mr.  Quarter- 
page.  1 '  Well,  he  took  the  trouble  to  go  to  London  to  ask 
some  quiet  questions  of  the  nephew,  Stephen.  That  was 
just  twelve  months  after  Chamberlayne  had  been  buried. 
But  he  found  that  Stephen  Chamberlayne  had  left  Eng- 
land— months  before.  Gone,  they  said,  to  one  of  the 
colonies,  but  they  didn't  know  which.  And  the  solicitor 
had  also  gone.  And  the  doctor — couldn't  be  traced,  no, 
sir,  not  even  through  the  Medical  Register.  What  do 
you  think  of  all  that,  Mr.  Spargo?" 

"I  think,"  answered  Spargo,  "that  Market  Milcaster 
folk  are  considerably  slow.  I  should  have  had  that 
death  and  burial  enquired  into.  The  whole  thing  looks 
to  me  like  a  conspiracy." 

"Well,  sir,  it  was,  as  I  say,  nobody's  business,"  said 
Mr.  Quarterpage.  "The  newspaper  gentleman  tried  to 
stir  up  interest  in  it,  but  it  was  no  good,  and  very  soon 
afterwards  he  left.    And  there  it  is," 


178     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Mr.  Quarterpage,"  said  Spargo,  "what's  your  own 
honest  opinion ?" 

The  old  gentleman  smiled. 

"Ah!"  he  said.  "I've  often  wondered,  Mr.  Spargo, 
if  I  really  have  an  opinion  on  that  point.  I  think  that 
what  I  probably  feel  about  the  whole  affair  is  that  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  mystery  attaching  to  it.  But  we 
seem,  sir,  to  have  gone  a  long  way  from  the  question  of 
that  old  silver  ticket  which  you've  got  in  your  purse. 
Now  " 

"No!"  said  Spargo,  interrupting  his  host  with  an  ac- 
companying wag  of  his  forefinger.  "No!  I  think  we're 
coming  nearer  to  it.  Now  you've  given  me  a  great  deal 
of  your  time,  Mr.  Quarterpage,  and  told  me  a  lot,  and, 
first  of  all,  before  I  tell  you  a  lot,  I'm  going  to  show  you 
something." 

And  Spargo  took  out  of  his  pocket-book  a  carefully- 
mounted  photograph  of  John  Marbury — the  original  of 
the  process-picture  which  he  had  had  made  for  the 
Watchman.    He  handed  it  over. 

"Do  you  recognize  that  photograph  as  that  of  any- 
body you  know?"  he  asked.  "Look  at  it  well  and 
closely. ' ' 

Mr.  Quarterpage  put  on  a  special  pair  of  spectacles 
and  studied  the  photograph  from  several  points  of  view. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said  at  last  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 
"I  don't  recognize  it  at  all." 

"Can't  see  in  it  any  resemblance  to  any  man  you've 
ever  known?"  asked  Spargo. 

"No,  sir,  none!"  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "None 
whatever." 


MAITLAND  ALIAS  MARBURY  179 


6 6 Very  well,"  said  Spargo,  laying  the  photograph  on 
the  table  between  them.  4 'Now,  then,  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  what  John  Maitland  was  like  when  you  knew 
him.  Also,  I  want  you  to  describe  Chamberlayne  as  he 
was  when  he  died,  or  was  supposed  to  die.  You  remem- 
ber them,  of  course,  quite  well?" 

Mr.  Quarterpage  got  up  and  moved  to  the  door. 

**I  can  do  better  than  that,"  he  said.  "1  can  show 
you  photographs  of  both  men  as  they  were  just  before 
Maitland 's  trial.  I  have  a  photograph  of  a  small  group 
of  Market  Milcaster  notabilities  which  was  taken  at  a 
municipal  garden-party;  Maitland  and  Chamberlayne 
are  both  in  it.  It's  been  put  away  in  a  cabinet  in  my 
drawing-room  for  many  a  long  year,  and  I've  no  doubt 
it's  as  fresh  as  when  it  was  taken." 

He  left  the  room  and  presently  returned  with  a  large 
mounted  photograph  which  he  laid  on  the  table  before 
his  visitor. 

" There  you  are,  sir,"  he  said.  " Quite  fresh,  you  see 
— it  must  be  getting  on  to  twenty  years  since  that  was 
taken  out  of  the  drawer  that  it's  been  kept  in.  Now, 
that's  Maitland.    And  that's  Chamberlayne." 

Spargo  found  himself  looking  at  a  group  of  men  who 
stood  against  an  ivy-covered  wall  in  the  stiff  attitudes 
in  which  photographers  arrange  masses  of  sitters.  He 
fixed  his  attention  on  the  two  figures  indicated  by  Mr. 
Quarterpage,  and  saw  two  medium-heighted,  rather 
sturdily-built  men  about  whom  there  was  nothing  very 
specially  noticeable. 

"Um!"  he  said,  musingly.    "Both  bearded." 

"Yes,  they  both  wore  beards — full  beards,"  assented 


180     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Mr.  Quarterpage.  "And  you  see,  they  weren't  so  much 
alike.  But  Maitland  was  a  much  darker  man  than  Cham- 
berlayne,  and  he  had  brown  eyes,  while  Chamberlayne's 
were  rather  a  bright  blue." 

"The  removal  of  a  beard  makes  a  great  difference," 
remarked  Spargo.  He  looked  at  the  photograph  of 
Maitland  in  the  group,  comparing  it  with  that  of  Mar- 
bury  which  he  had  taken  from  his  pocket.  "And  twenty 
years  makes  a  difference,  too,"  he  added  musingly. 

' '  To  some  people  twenty  years  makes  a  vast  difference, 
sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "To  others  it  makes  none 
—I  haven't  changed  much,  they  tell  me,  during  the  past 
twenty  years.  But  I've  known  men  change — age,  almost 
beyond  recognition! — in  five  years.  It  depends,  sir,  on 
what  they  go  through. ' ' 

Spargo  suddenly  laid  aside  the  photographs,  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  looked  steadfastly  at  Mr. 
Quarterpage. 

"Look  here!"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  what 
I'm  after,  Mr.  Quarterpage.  I'm  sure  you've  heard  all 
about  what's  known  as  the  Middle  Temple  Murder — the 
Marbury  case  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I've  read  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Quarterpage. 

"Have  you  read  the  accounts  of  it  in  my  paper,  the 
Watchman?"  asked  Spargo. 

Mr.  Quarterpage  shook  his  head. 

"I've  only  read  one  newspaper,  sir,  since  I  was  a 
young  man,"  he  replied.  "I  take  the  Times,  sir — we 
always  took  it,  aye,  even  in  the  days  when  newspapers 
were  taxed." 

"Very  good,"  said  Spargo.    "But  perhaps  I  can  tell 


MAITLAND  ALIAS  MARBURY  181 


you  a  little  more  than  you've  read,  for  I've  been  work- 
ing up  that  case  ever  since  the  body  of  the  man  known 
as  John  Marbury  was  found.  Now,  if  you'll  just  give 
me  your  attention,  I  '11  tell  you  the  whole  story  from  that 
moment  until — now." 

And  Spargo,  briefly,  succinctly,  re-told  the  story  of 
the  Marbury  case  from  the  first  instant  of  his  own  con- 
nection with  it  until  the  discovery  of  the  silver  ticket, 
and  Mr.  Quarterpage  listened  in  rapt  attention,  nodding 
his  head  from  time  to  time  as  the  younger  man  made  his 
points. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Quarterpage,"  concluded  Spargo, 
4 • this  is  the  point  I've  come  to.  I  believe  that  the  man 
who  came  to  the  Anglo-Orient  Hotel  as  John  Marbury 
and  who  was  undoubtedly  murdered  in  Middle  Temple 
Lane  that  night,  was  John  Maitland — I  haven't  a  doubt 
about  it  after  learning  what  you  tell  me  about  the  silver 
ticket.  I've  found  out  a  great  deal  that's  valuable  here, 
and  I  think  I'm  getting  nearer  to  a  solution  of  the  mys- 
tery. That  is,  of  course,  to  find  out  who  murdered  John 
Maitland,  or  Marbury.  What  you  have  told  me  about 
the  Chamberlayne  affair  has  led  me  to  think  this — there 
may  have  been  people,  or  a  person,  in  London,  who  was 
anxious  to  get  Marbury,  as  we'll  call  him,  out  of  the  way, 
and  who  somehow  encountered  him  that  night — anxious 
to  silence  him,  I  mean,  because  of  the  Chamberlayne  af- 
fair. And  I  wondered,  as  there  is  so  much  mystery 
about  him,  and  as  he  won't  give  any  account  of  himself, 
if  this  man  Aylmore  was  really  Chamberlayne.  Yes,  I 
wondered  that!  But  Aylmore 's  a  tall,  finely-built  man, 
quite  six  feet  in  height,  and  his  beard,  though  it's  now 


182     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


getting  grizzled,  has  been  very  dark,  and  Chamberlayne, 
you  say,  was  a  medium-sized,  fair  man,  with  blue  eyes." 

"That's  so,  sir,"  assented  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Yes, 
a  middling-sized  man,  and  fair — very  fair.  Deary  me, 
Mr.  Spargo ! — this  is  a  revelation.  And  you  really  think, 
sir,  that  John  Maitland  and  John  Marbury  are  one  and 
the  same  person?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  now,"  said  Spargo.  "I  see  it  in  this 
way.  Maitland,  on  his  release,  went  out  to  Australia, 
and  there  he  stopped.  At  last  he  comes  back,  evidently 
well-to-do.  He's  murdered  the  very  day  of  his  arrival. 
Aylmore  is  the  only  man  who  knows  anything  of  him — 
Aylmore  won't  tell  all  he  knows;  that's  flat.  But  Ayl- 
more's  admitted  that  he  knew  him  at  some  vague  date, 
say  from  twenty-one  to  twenty-two  or  three  years  ago. 
Now,  where  did  Aylmore  know  him?  He  says  in  Lon- 
don. That's  a  vague  term.  He  won't  say  where- — he 
won't  say  anything  definite — he  won't  even  say  what 
he,  Aylmore,  himself  was  in  those  days.  Do  you  recol- 
lect anything  of  anybody  like  Aylmore  coming  here  to 
see  Maitland,  Mr.  Quarterpage  ?  " 

"I  don't,"  answered  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Maitland 
was  a  very  quiet,  retiring  fellow,  sir:  he  was  about  the 
quietest  man  in  the  town.  I  never  remember  that  he 
had  visitors;  certainly  I've  no  recollection  of  such  a 
friend  of  his  as  this  Aylmore,  from  your  description  of 
him,  would  be  at  that  time." 

"Did  Maitland  go  up  to  London  much  in  those  days?" 
asked  Spargo. 

Mr.  Quarterpage  laughed. 

"Well,  now,  to  show  you  what  a  good  memory  I  have," 


MAITLAND  ALIAS  MARBURY  183 


he  said,  "I'll  tell  you  of  something  that  occurred  across 
there  at  the  '  Dragon '  only  a  few  months  before  the 
Maitland  affair  came  out.  There  were  some  of  us  in 
there  one  evening,  and,  for  a  rare  thing,  Maitland  came 
in  with  Chamberlayne.  Chamberlayne  happened  to  re- 
mark that  he  was  going  up  to  town  next  day — he  was 
always  to  and  fro — and  we  got  talking  about  London. 
And  Maitland  said  in  course  of  conversation,  that  he  be- 
lieved he  was  about  the  only  man  of  his  age  in  England — 
and,  of  course,  he  meant  of  his  class  and  means — who'd 
never  even  seen  London!  And  I  don't  think  he  ever 
went  there  between  that  time  and  his  trial :  in  fact,  I  'm 
sure  he  didn't,  for  if  he  had;  I  should  have  heard  of  it." 

* 4 Well,  that's  queer,"  remarked  Spargo.  1 ' It's  very 
queer.  For  I'm  certain  Maitland  and  Marbury  are  one 
and  the  same  person.  My  theory  about  that  old  leather 
box  is  that  Maitland  had  that  carefully  planted  before 
his  arrest;  that  he  dug  it  up  when  he  came  out  of  Dart- 
moor; that  he  took  it  off  to  Australia  with  him;  that 
he  brought  it  back  with  him;  and  that,  of  course,  the 
silver  ticket  and  the  photograph  had  been  in  it  all  these 
years.    Now  ' ' 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  library  was  opened, 
and  a  parlourmaid  looked  in  at  her  master. 

4 ' There's  the  boots  from  the  'Dragon'  at  the  front 
door,  sir,"  she  said.  * 4 He's  brought  two  telegrams 
across  from  there  for  Mr.  Spargo,  thinking  he  might  like 
to  have  them  at  once." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 


AKEESTED 

Spargo  Imrried  out  to  the  hall,  took  the  two  telegrams 
from  the  boots  of  the  ' i  Dragon, 7 9  and,  tearing  open  the 
envelopes,  read  the  messages  hastily.  He  went  back  to 
Mr.  Quarterpage. 

" Here's  important  news,"  he  said  as  he  closed  the 
library  door  and  resumed  his  seat.  "Ill  read  these  tele- 
grams to  you,  sir,  and  then  we  can  discuss  them  in  the 
light  of  what  we've  been  talking  about  this  morning. 
The  first  is  from  our  office.  I  told  you  we  sent  over  to 
Australia  for  a  full  report  about  Marbury  at  the  place 
he  said  he  hailed  from — Coolumbidgee.  That  report's 
just  reached  the  Watchman,  and  they've  wired  it  on  to 
me.  It's  from  the  chief  of  police  at  Coolumbidgee  to 
the  editor  of  the  Watchman,  London: — 

"John  Marbury  came  to  Coolumbidgee  in  the  win- 
ter of  1898-9.  He  was  unaccompanied.  He  appeared 
to  be  in  possession  of  fairly  considerable  means  and 
bought  a  share  in  a  small  sheep-farm  from  its  proprie- 
tor, Andrew  Kobertson,  who  is  still  here,  and  who  says 
that  Marbury  never  told  him  anything  about  himself 
except  that  he  had  emigrated  for  health  reasons  and 

184 


ARRESTED 


185 


was  a  widower.  He  mentioned  that  he  had  had  a  son 
who  was  dead,  and  was  now  without  relations.  He 
lived  a  very  quiet,  steady  life  on  the  sheep-farm,  never 
leaving  it  for  many  years.  About  six  months  ago, 
however,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Melbourne,  and  on  return- 
ing told  Robertson  that  he  had  decided  to  return  to 
England  in  consequence  of  some  news  he  had  received, 
and  must  therefore  sell  his  share  in  the  farm.  Rob- 
ertson bought  it  from  him  for  three  thousand  pounds, 
and  Marbury  shortly  afterwards  left  for  Melbourne. 
From  what  we  could  gather,  Robertson  thmks  Mar- 
bury  was  probably  in  command  of  five  or  six  thousand 
when  he  left  Coolumbidgee,  He  told  Robertson  that 
he  had  met  a  man  in  Melbourne  who  had  given  him 
news  that  surprised  him,  but  did  not  say  what  news. 
He  had  in  his  possession  when  he  left  Robertson  ex- 
actly the  luggage  he  brought  with  him  when  he  came 
— a  stout  portmanteau  and  a  small,  square  leather 
box.  There  are  no  effects  of  his  left  behind  at  Coolum- 
bidgee." 

"That's  all,"  said  Spargo,  laying  the  first  of  the  tele- 
grams on  the  table.  4  4  And  it  seems  to  me  to  signify  a 
good  deal.  But  now  here's  more  startling  news.  This 
is  from  Rathbury,  the  Scotland  Yard  detective  that  I 
told  you  of,  Mr.  Quarterpage — he  promised,  you  know, 
to  keep  me  posted  in  what  went  on  in  my  absence. 
Here's  what  he  says: 

"Fresh  evidence  tending  to  incriminate  Aylmore 
has  come  to  hand.    Authorities  have  decided  to  arrest 


186     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


him  on  suspicion.  You'd  better  hurry  back  if  you 
want  material  for  to-morrow's  paper.' ' 

Spargo  threw  that  telegram  down,  too,  waited  while  the 
old  gentleman  glanced  at  both  of  them  with  evident 
curiosity,  and  then  jumped  up. 

"Well,  I  shall  have  to  go,  Mr.  Quarterpage, "  he  said. 
"I  looked  the  trains  out  this  morning  so  as  to  be  in  readi- 
ness. I  can  catch  the  1.20  to  Paddington — that'll  get 
me  in  before  half -past  four.  I've  an  hour  yet.  Now, 
there's  another  man  I  want  to  see  in  Market  Milcaster. 
That's  the  photographer — or  a  photographer.  You  re- 
member I  told  you  of  the  photograph  found  with  the 
silver  ticket?  Well,  I'm  calculating  that  that  photo- 
graph was  taken  here,  and  I  want  to  see  the  man  who 
took  it — if  he's  alive  and  I  can  find  him." 

Mr.  Quarterpage  rose  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"There's  only  one  photographer  in  this  town,  sir," 
he  said,  "and  he's  been  here  for  a  good  many  years — 
Cooper.  I'll  take  you  to  him — it's  only  a  few  doors 
away. ' ' 

Spargo  wasted  no  time  in  letting  the  photographer 
know  what  he  wanted.  He  put  a  direct  question  to  Mr. 
Cooper — an  elderly  man. 

"Do  you  remember  taking  a  photograph  of  the  child 
of  John  Maitland,  the  bank  manager,  some  twenty  or 
twenty-one  years  ago?"  he  asked,  after  Mr.  Quarter- 
page  had  introduced  him  as  a  gentleman  from  London 
who  wanted  to  ask  a  few  questions. 

4 'Quite  well,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Cooper.  "As  well  as 
if  it  had  been  yesterday." 


ARRESTED 


187 


"Do  you  still  happen  to  have  a  copy  of  it?"  asked 
Spargo. 

But  Mr.  Cooper  had  already  turned  to  a  row  of  file 
albums.  He  took  down  one  labelled  1891,  and  began  to 
search  its  pages.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  laid  it  on  his 
table  before  his  callers. 

"There  you  are,  sir/'  he  said.    "That's  the  child!'' 

Spargo  gave  one  glance  at  the  photograph  and  turned 
to  Mr.  Quarterpage.  "Just  as  I  thought,"  he  said. 
"That's  the  same  photograph  we  found  in  the  leather 
box  with  the  silver  ticket.  I'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr. 
Cooper.  Now,  there's  just  one  more  question  I  want  to 
ask.  Did  you  ever  supply  any  further  copies  of  this 
photograph  to  anybody  after  the  Maitland  affair  ? — that 
is,  after  the  family  had  left  the  town?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  photographer.  "I  supplied  half 
a  dozen  copies  to  Miss  Baylis,  the  child's  aunt,  who,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  brought  him  here  to  be  photographed. 
And  I  can  give  you  her  address,  too, ' '  he  continued,  be- 
ginning to  turn  over  another  old  file.  "I  have  it  some- 
where. ' ' 

Mr.  Quarterpage  nudged  Spargo. 

"That's  something  I  couldn't  have  done!"  he  re- 
marked. "As  I  told  you,  she'd  disappeared  from 
Brighton  when  enquiries  were  made  after  Maitland 's 
release." 

"Here  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Cooper.  "I  sent  six  copies 
of  that  photograph  to  Miss  Baylis  in  April,  1895. 
Her  address  was  then  6,  Chichester  Square,  Bays- 
water,  W." 

Spargo  rapidly  wrote  this  address  down,  thanked  the 


188     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


photographer  for  his  courtesy,  and  went  out  with  Mr. 
Quarterpage.  In  the  street  he  turned  to  the  old  gentle- 
man with  a  smile. 

" Well,  I  don't  think  there's  much  doubt  about  that !" 
he  exclaimed.  "Maitland  and  Marbury  are  the  same 
man,  Mr.  Quarterpage.  I'm  as  certain  of  that  as  that 
I  see  your  Town  Hall  there. ' 9 

"And  what  will  you  do  next,  sir?"  enquired  Mr. 
Quarterpage. 

"Thank  you — as  I  do — for  all  your  kindness  and  as- 
sistance, and  get  off  to  town  by  this  1.20,"  replied 
Spargo.  "And  I  shan't  fail  to  let  you  know  how  things 
go  on." 

"One  moment,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  as  Spargo 
was  hurrying  away,  "do  you  think  this  Mr.  Aylmore 
really  murdered  Maitland  ? ' ' 

"No!"  answered  Spargo  with  emphasis.  "I  don't! 
And  I  think  we 've  got  a  good  deal  to  do  before  we  find 
out  who  did." 

Spargo  purposely  let  the  Marbury  case  drop  out  of 
his  mind  during  his  journey  to  town.  He  ate  a  hearty 
lunch  in  the  train  and  talked  with  his  neighbours;  it 
was  a  relief  to  let  his  mind  and  attention  turn  to  some- 
thing else  than  the  theme  which  had  occupied  it  unceas- 
ingly for  so  many  days.  But  at  Reading  the  newspaper 
boys  were  shouting  the  news  of  the  arrest  of  a  Member 
of  Parliament,  and  Spargo,  glancing  out  of  the  window, 
caught  sight  of  a  newspaper  placard : 


The  Marbury  Murder  Case 
Arrest  of  Mr.  Aylmore 


ARRESTED 


189 


He  snatched  a  paper  from  a  boy  as  the  train  moved  out 
and,  unfolding  it,  found  a  mere  announcement  in  the 
space  reserved  for  stop-press  news : 

"Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore,  M.P.,  was  arrested  at  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon,  on  his  way  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  on  a  charge  of  being  concerned  in  the  mur- 
der of  John  Marbury  in  Middle  Temple  Lane  on  the 
night  of  June  21st  last.  It  is  understood  he  will  be 
brought  up  at  Bow  Street  at  ten  o'clock  tomorrow 
morning. ' ' 

Spargo  hurried  to  New  Scotland  Yard  as  soon  as  he 
reached  Paddington.  He  met  Rathbury  coming  away 
from  his  room.  At  sight  of  him,  the  detective  turned 
back. 

' '  Well,  so  there  you  are ! ' '  he  said.  1 1 1  suppose  you 've 
heard  the  news  ? ' ' 

Spargo  nodded  as  he  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"What  led  to  it?"  he  asked  abruptly.  "There  must 
have  been  something." 

"There  was  something/'  he  replied.  "The  thing- 
stick,  bludgeon,  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  some  foreign 
article — with  which  Marbury  was  struck  down  was  found 
last  night." 

"Well?"  asked  Spargo. 

"It  was  proved  to  be  Aylmore's  property,"  answered 
Rathbury.  "It  was  a  South  American  curio  that  he 
had  in  his  rooms  in  Fountain  Court." 

"Where  was  it  found?"  asked  Spargo. 

Rathbury  laughed. 


190     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"He  was  a  clumsy  fellow  who  did  it,  whether  he  was 
Aylmore  or  whoever  he  was!"  he  replied.  "Do  you 
know,  it  had  been  dropped  into  a  sewer-trap  in  Middle 
Temple  Lane — actually !  Perhaps  the  murderer  thought 
it  would  be  washed  out  into  the  Thames  and  float  away. 
But,  of  course,  it  was  bound  to  come  to  light.  A  sewer 
man  found  it  yesterday  evening,  and  it  was  quickly 
recognized  by  the  woman  who  cleans  up  for  Aylmore 
as  having  been  in  his  rooms  ever  since  she  knew  them." 

"What  does  Aylmore  say  about  it?"  asked  Spargo. 
"I  suppose  he's  said  something?" 

"Says  that  the  bludgeon  is  certainly  his,  and  that  he 
brought  it  from  South  America  with  him,"  announced 
Rathbury;  "but  that  he  doesn't  remember  seeing  it  in 
his  rooms  for  some  time,  and  thinks  that  it  was  stolen 
from  them." 

"Um!"  said  Spargo,  musingly.  "But — how  do  you 
know  that  was  the  thing  that  Marbury  was  struck  down 
with?" 

Rathbury  smiled  grimly. 

"There's  some  of  his  hair  on  it — mixed  with  btood," 
he  answered.  "No  doubt  about  that.  Well — anything 
come  of  your  jaunt  westward?" 

'  <  Yes, ' '  replied  Spargo.    ' '  Lots ! ' ' 

"Good?"  asked  Rathbury. 

"Extra  good.  I've  found  out  who  Marbury  really 
was." 

"No!  Really?" 

6 '  No  doubt,  to  my  mind.    I 'm  certain  of  it. ' ' 
Rathbury  sat  down  at  his  desk,  watching  Spargo  with 
rapt  attention. 


ARRESTED 


191 


"And  who  was  he?"  he  asked. 

"John  Maitland,  once  of  Market  Milcaster, ' '  replied 
Spargo.    "Ex-bank  manager.    Also  ex-convict. ' 1 
"Ex-convict!" 

"Ex-convict.  He  was  sentenced,  at  Market  Milcaster 
Quarter  Sessions,  in  autumn,  1891,  to  ten  years'  penal 
servitude,  for  embezzling  the  bank's  money,  to  the  tune 
of  over  two  hundred  thousand  pounds.  Served  his  term 
at  Dartmoor.  Went  to  Australia  as  soon,  or  soon  after, 
he  came  out.  That's  who  Marbury  was — Maitland. 
Dead — certain!" 

Rathbury  still  stared  at  his  caller. 

" Go  on ! ' '  he  said.  "Tell  all  about  it,  Spargo.  Let 's 
hear  every  detail.  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  after.  But 
what  I  know's  nothing  to  that." 

Spargo  told  him  the  whole  story  of  his  adventures  at 
Market  Milcaster,  and  the  detective  listened  with  rapt 
attention. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  the  end.  "Yes — I  don't  think 
there's  much  doubt  about  that.  Well,  that  clear*  up  a 
lot,  doesn't  it?" 

Spargo  yawned. 

"Yes,  a  whole  slate  full  is  wiped  off  there,"  he  said. 
"I  haven't  so  much  interest  in  Marbury,  or  Maitland 
now.    My  interest  is  all  in  Aylmore. ' ' 

Rathbury  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "The  thing  to  find  out  is — who  is 
Aylmore,  or  who  was  he,  twenty  years  ago?" 

"Your  people  haven't  found  anything  out,  then?" 
asked  Spargo. 

"Nothing  beyond  the  irreproachable  history  of  Mr. 


192     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Aylmore  since  he  returned  to  this  country,  a  very  rich 
man,  some  ten  years  since,"  answered  Rathbury,  smil- 
ing. "They've  no  previous  dates  to  go  on.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  next,  Spargo?" 

"Seek  out  that  Miss  Bay  lis,"  replied  Spargo. 

"You  think  you  could  get  something  there?"  asked 
Rathbury. 

"Look  here!"  said  Spargo.  "I  don't  believe  for  a 
second  Aylmore  killed  Marbury.  I  believe  I  shall  get 
at  the  truth  by  following  up  what  I  call  the  Maitland 
trail.  This  Miss  Baylis  must  know  something — if  she's 
alive.  Well,  now  I'm  going  to  report  at  the  office. 
Keep  in  touch  with  me,  Rathbury. ' ' 

He  went  on  then  to  the  Watchman  office,  and  as  he 
got  out  of  his  taxi-cab  at  its  door,  another  cab  came  up 
and  set  down  Mr.  Aylmore 's  daughters. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 


THE  BLANK  PAST 

Jessie  Aylmore  came  forward  to  meet  Spargo  with 
ready  confidence ;  the  elder  girl  hung  back  diffidently. 

1 4  May  we  speak  to  you  ? ' '  said  J essie.  1 '  We  have  come 
on  purpose  to  speak  to  you.  Evelyn  didn't  want  to 
come,  but  I  made  her  come." 

Spargo  shook  hands  silently  with  Evelyn  Aylmore  and 
motioned  them  both  to  follow  him.  He  took  them 
straight  upstairs  to  his  room  and  bestowed  them  in  hi$ 
easiest  chairs  before  he  addressed  them, 

"I've  only  just  got  back  to  town,"  he  said  abruptly. 
"I  was  sorry  to  hear  the  news  about  your  father.  That's 
what's  brought  you  here,  of  course.  But — I'm  afraid 
I  can 't  do  much. ' ' 

"I  told  you  that  we  had  no  right  to  trouble  Mr, 
Spargo,  Jessie,"  said  Evelyn  Aylmore.  "What  can 
he  do  to  help  us?" 

Jessie  shook  her  head  impatiently. 

"The  Watchman's  about  the  most  powerful  paper  in 
London,  isn't  it?"  she  said.  "And  isn't  Mr.  Spargo 
writing  all  these  articles  about  the  Marbury  case?  Mr. 
Spargo,  you  must  help  us!" 

Spargo  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  began  turning  over 
the  letters  and  papers  which  had  accumulated  during  his 
absence. 

193 


194     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


*  *  To  be  absolutely  frank  with  you, ' '  he  said,  presently, 
"I  don't  see  how  anybody's  going  to  help,  so  long  as 
your  father  keeps  up  that  mystery  about  the  past. ' ' 

44 That,"  said  Evelyn,  quietly,  "is  exactly  what  Ron- 
ald says,  Jessie.  But  we  can't  make  our  father  speak, 
Mr.  Spargo.  That  h3  is  as  innocent  as  we  are  of  this 
terrible  crime  we  are  certain,  and  we  don't  know  why 
he  wouldn't  answer  the  questions  put  to  him  at  the 
inquest.  And — we  know  no  more  than  you  know  or  any- 
one knows,  and  though  I  have  begged  my  father  to  speak, 
he  won 't  say  a  word.  We  saw  his  danger :  Ronald — Mr. 
Breton — told  us,  and  we  implored  him  to  tell  everything 
he  knew  about  Mr.  Marbury.  But  so  far  he  has  simply 
laughed  at  the  idea  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
murder,  or  could  be  arrested  for  it,  and  now  " 

"And  now  he's  locked  up,"  said  Spargo  in  his  usual 
matter-of-fact  fashion.  "Well,  there  are  people  who 
have  to  be  saved  from  themselves,  you  know.  Perhaps 
you'll  have  to  save  your  father  from  the  consequences 
of  his  own — shall  we  say  obstinacy?  Now,  look  here, 
between  ourselves,  how  much  do  you  know  about  your 
father's— past?" 

The  two  sisters  looked  at  each  other  and  then  at 
Spargo. 

"Nothing,"  said  the  elder. 

"Absolutely  nothing!"  said  the  younger. 

"Answer  a  few  plain  questions,"  said  Spargo.  "I'm 
not  going  to  print  your  replies,  nor  make  use  of  them  in 
any  way:  I'm  only  asking  the  questions  with  a  desire  to 
help  you.   Have  you  any  relations  in  England?" 


THE  BLANK  PAST 


195 


"Non<*  that  we  know  of,"  replied  Evelyn. 
"Nobody  you  could  go  to  for  information  about  the 
past?"  asked  Spargo. 
"No— nobody !" 

Spargo  drummed  his  fingers  on  his  blotting-pad.  He 
was  thinking  hard. 

"How  old  is  your  father?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"He  was  fifty-nine  a  few  weeks  ago/'  answered  Eve- 
lyn. 

"And  how  old  are  you,  and  how  old  is  your  sister?" 
demanded  Spargo. 

"I  am  twenty,  and  Jessie  is  nearly  nineteen." 
6 6  Where  were  you  born  ? ' ' 

"Both  of  us  at  San  Gregorio,  which  is  in  the  San 
Jose  province  of  Argentina,  north  of  Monte  Video." 

"Your  father  was  in  business  there?" 

"He  was  in  business  in  the  export  trade,  Mr.  Spargo. 
There's  no  secret  about  that.  He  exported  all  sorts  of 
things  to  England  and  to  France — skins,  hides,  wools, 
dried  salts,  fruit.    That's  how  he  made  his  money." 

"You  don't  know  how  long  he'd  been  there  when  you 
were  born  ? ' ' 

"No." 

"Was  he  married  when  he  went  out  there?" 

"No,  he  wasn't.  We  do  know  that.  He's  told  us  the 
circumstances  of  his  marriage,  because  they  were  ro- 
mantic. When  he  sailed  from  England  to  Buenos 
Ayres,  he  met  on  the  steamer  a  young  lady  who,  he  said, 
was  like  himself,  relationless  and  nearly  friendless.  She 
was  going  out  to  Argentina  as  a  governess.    She  and 


196     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


my  father  fell  in  love  with  each  other,  and  they  were 
married  in  Buenos  Ay  res  soon  after  the  steamer  ar- 
rived. ' ' 

"And  your  mother  is  dead?" 

"My  mother  died  before  we  came  to  England.  I  was 
eight  years  old,  and  Jessie  six,  then. ' ' 

"And  you  came  to  England — how  long  after  that?* 
6 6  Two  years. ' ' 

"So  that  you've  been  in  England  ten  years.  And 
you  know  nothing  whatever  of  your  father's  past  be- 
yond what  you 've  told  me?" 

"Nothing — absolutely  nothing." 

"Never  heard  him  talk  of — you  see,  according  to  your 
account,  your  father  was  a  man  of  getting  on  to  forty 
when  he  went  out  to  Argentina.  He  must  have  had  a 
career  of  some  sort  in  this  country.  Have  you  never 
heard  him  speak  of  his  boyhood  ?  Did  he  never  talk  of 
old  times,  or  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"I  never  remember  hearing  my  father  speak  of  any 
period  antecedent  to  his  marriage,"  replied  Evelyn. 

"I  once  asked  him  a  question  about  his  childhood," 
said  Jessie.  "He  answered  that  his  early  days  had  not 
been  very  happy  ones,  and  that  he  had  done  his  best  to 
forget  them.    So  I  never  asked  him  anything  again. ' ' 

"So  that  it  really  comes  to  this,"  remarked  Spargo. 
"You  know  nothing  whatever  about  your  father,  his 
family,  his  fortunes,  his  life,  beyond  what  you  yourselves 
have  observed  since  you  were  able  to  observe?  That's 
about  it,  isn 't  it  ? " 

"I  should  say  that  that  is  exactly  it,"  answered 
Evelyn. 


THE  BLANK  PAST 


197 


"Just  so,"  said  Spargo.  "And  therefore,  as  I  told 
your  sister  the  other  day,  the  public  will  say  that  your 
father  has  some  dark  secret  behind  him,  and  that  Mar- 
bury  had  possession  of  it,  and  that  your  father  killed 
him  in  order  to  silence  him.  That  isn 't  my  view.  I  not 
only  believe  your  father  to  be  absolutely  innocent,  but 
I  believe  that  he  knows  no  more  than  a  child  unborn  of 
Marbury 's  murder,  and  I'm  doing  my  best  to  find  out 
who  that  murderer  was.  By  the  by,  since  you  11  see  all 
about  it  in  tomorrow  morning's  Watchman,  I  may  a3 
well  tell  you  that  I've  found  out  who  Marbury  really 
was.    He  ' 9 

At  this  moment  Spargo 's  door  was  opened  and  in 
walked  Eonald  Breton.  He  shook  his  head  at  sight  of 
the  two  sisters. 

"I  thought  I  should  find  you  here,"  he  said.  "Jessie 
said  she  was  coming  to  see  you,  Spargo.  I  don't  know 
what  good  you  can  do — I  don't  see  what  good  the  most 
powerful  newspaper  in  the  world  can  do.  My  God! — 
everything's  about  as  black  as  ever  it  can  be.  Mr. 
Aylmore — I've  just  come  away  from  him;  his  solicitor, 
Stratton,  and  I  have  been  with  him  for  an  hour — is  ob- 
stinate as  ever — he  will  not  tell  more  than  he  has  told. 
Whatever  good  can  you  do,  Spargo,  when  he  won't  speak 
about  that  knowledge  of  Marbury  which  he  must  have  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  well!"  said  Spargo.  "Perhaps  we  can  give 
him  some  information  about  Marbury.  Mr.  Aylmore 
has  forgotten  that  it's  not  such  a  difficult  thing  to  rake 
up  the  past  as  he  seems  to  think  it  is.  For  example,  as 
I  was  just  telling  these  young  ladies,  I  myself  have  dis- 
covered who  Marbury  really  was." 


198     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Breton  started. 

"You  have?    "Without  doubt ?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Without  reasonable  doubt.    Marbury  was  an  ex- 
convict.'  ' 

Spargo  watched  the  effect  of  this  sudden  announce- 
ment. The  two  girls  showed  no  sign  of  astonishment 
or  of  unusual  curiosity;  they  received  the  news  with  as 
much  unconcern  as  if  Spargo  had  told  them  that  Mar- 
bury  was  a  famous  musician.  But  Ronald  Breton 
started,  and  it  seemed  to  Spargo  that  he  saw  a  sense  of 
suspicion  dawn  in  his  eyes. 

"Marbury — an  ex-convict!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
mean  that?" 

"Read  your  Watchman  in  the  morning,"  said  Spargo. 
"You'll  find  the  whole  story  there — I'm  going  to  write 
it  tonight  when  you  people  have  gone.  It'll  make  good 
reading." 

Evelyn  and  Jessie  Aylmore  took  Spargo 's  hint  and 
went  away,  Spargo  seeing  them  to  the  door  with  another 
assurance  of  his  belief  in  their  father's  innocence  and 
his  determination  to  hunt  down  the  real  criminal.  Ron- 
ald Breton  went  down  with  them  to  the  street  and  saw 
them  into  a  cab,  but  in  another  minute  he  was  back  in 
Spargo 's  room  as  Spargo  had  expected.  He  shut  the 
door  carefully  behind  him  and  turned  to  Spargo  with 
an  eager  face. 

"I  say,  Spargo,  is  that  really  so?"  he  asked.  "About 
Marbury  being  an  ex-convict?" 

"That's  so,  Breton.  I've  no  more  doubt  about  it  than 
I  have  that  I  see  you.  Marbury  was  in  reality  one  John 
Maitland,  a  bank  manager,  of  Market  Milcaster,  who 


THE  BLANK  PAST 


199 


got  ten  years'  penal  servitude  in  1891  for  embezzle- 
ment.' ' 

"In  1891?  Why— that's  just  about  the  time  that 
Aylmore  says  he  knew  him ! ' 9 

"Exactly.  And — it  just  strikes  me,"  said  Spargo, 
sitting  down  at  his  desk  and  making  a  hurried  note,  ' 1  it 
just  strikes  me — didn't  Aylmore  say  he  knew  Marbury 
in  London?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Breton.    "In  London." 

6 1  Um ! ' '  mused  Spargo.  ' 4  That 's  queer,  because  Mait- 
land  had  never  been  in  London  up  to  the  time  of  his  go- 
ing to  Dartmoor,  whatever  he  may  have  done  when  he 
came  out  of  Dartmoor,  and,  of  course,  Aylmore  had  gone 
to  South  America  long  before  that.  Look  here,  Breton, ' 9 
he  continued,  aloud,  "have  you  access  to  Aylmore  ?  Will 
you,  can  you,  see  Kfto.  before  he's  brought  up  at  Bow 
Street  tomorrow  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  answered  Breton.  "I  can  see  him  with  his 
solicitor." 

"Then  listen,"  said  Spargo.  "Tomorrow  morning 
you'll  find  the  whole  story  of  how  I  proved  Marbury 's 
identity  with  Maitland  in  the  Watchman.  Head  it  as 
early  as  you  can ;  get  an  interview  with  Aylmore  as  early 
as  you  can;  make  him  read  it,  every  word,  before 
he's  brought  up.  Beg  him  if  he  values  his  own  safety 
and  his  daughters'  peace  of  mind  to  throw  away  all  that 
foolish  reserve,  and  to  tell  all  he  knows  about  Maitland 
twenty  years  ago.  He  should  have  done  that  at  first. 
Why,  I  was  asking  his  daughters  some  questions  before 
you  came  in — they  know  absolutely  nothing  of  their 
father's  history  previous  to  the  time  when  they  began  to 


200     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

understand  things!  Don't  you  see  that  Aylmore's  ca- 
reer, previous  to  his  return  to  England,  is  a  blank  past ? ' 9 
"I  know — I  know!"  said  Breton.  "Yes — although 
I've  gone  there  a  great  deal,  I  never  heard  Aylmore 
speak  of  anything  earlier  than  his  Argentine  experiences. 
And  yet,  he  must  have  been  getting  on  when  he  went 
out  there.' ' 

"Thirty-seven  or  eight,  at  least,"  remarked  Spargo. 
"Well,  Aylmore's  more  or  less  of  a  public  man,  and  no 
public  man  can  keep  his  life  hidden  nowadays.  By  the 
by,  how  did  you  get  to  know  the  Aylmores  ? ' 1 

"My  guardian,  Mr.  Elphick,  and  I  met  them  in 
Switzerland/'  answered  Breton.  "We  kept  up  the  ac- 
quaintance after  our  return." 

"Mr.  Elphick  still  interesting  himself  in  the  Mar- 
bury  case?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Very  much  so.  And  so  is  old  Cardlestone,  at  the 
foot  of  whose  stairs  the  thing  came  off.  I  dined  with 
them  last  night  and  they  talked  of  little  else,"  said 
Breton. 

"And  their  theory  " 

"Oh,  still  the  murder  for  the  sake  of  robbery!"  re- 
plied Breton.  "Old  Cardlestone  is  furious  that  such  a 
thing  could  have  happened  at  his  very  door.  He  says 
that  there  ought  to  be  a  thorough  enquiry  into  every 
tenant  of  the  Temple." 

"Longish  business  that,"  observed  Spargo.  "Well, 
run  away  now,  Breton — I  must  write. ' ' 

"Shall  you  be  at  Bow  Street  tomorrow  morning?" 
asked  Breton  as  he  moved  to  the  door.  "It's  to  be  at 
ten-thirty." 


THE  BLANK  PAST 


201 


"No,  I  shan't I"  replied  Spargo.  ' ' It  11  only  be  a 
remand,  and  I  know  already  just  as  much  as  I  should 
hear  there.  I've  got  something  much  more  important 
to  do.  But  you'll  remember  what  I  asked  of  you — get 
Ay lmore  to  read  my  story  in  the  Watchman,  and  beg  him 
to  speak  out  and  tell  all  he  knows — all ! ' ' 

And  when  Breton  had  gone,  Spargo  again  murmured 
those  last  words:    "All  he  knows — all!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THRE& 

MISS  BAYLIS 

Next  day,  a  little  before  noon,  Spargo  found  himself 
in  one  of  those  pretentious  yet  dismal  Bayswater  squares, 
which  are  almost  entirely  given  up  to  the  trade,  calling, 
or  occupation  of  the  lodging  and  boarding-house  keeper. 
They  are  very  pretentious,  those  squares,  with  their 
many-storied  houses,  their  stuccoed  frontages,  and  their 
pilastered  and  balconied  doorways;  innocent  country 
folk,  coming  into  them  from  the  neighbouring  station  of 
Paddington,  take  them  to  be  the  residences  of  the  dukes 
and  earls  who,  of  course,  live  nowhere  else  but  in  Lon- 
don. They  are  further  encouraged  in  this  belief  by  the 
fact  that  young  male  persons  in  evening  dress  are  often 
seen  at  the  doorways  in  more  or  less  elegant  attitudes. 
These,  of  course,  are  taken  by  the  country  folk  to  be 
young  lords  enjoying  the  air  of  Bayswater,  but  others, 
more  knowing,  are  aware  that  they  are  Swiss  or  German 
waiters  whose  linen  might  be  cleaner. 

Spargo  gauged  the  character  of  the  house  at  which  he 
called  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened  to  him.  There  was 
the  usual  smell  of  eggs  and  bacon,  of  fish  and  chops;  the 
usual  mixed  and  ancient  collection  of  overcoats,  wraps, 
and  sticks  in  the  hall ;  the  usual  sort  of  parlourmaid  to 
answer  the  bell.  And  presently,  in  answer  to  his  en- 
quiries, there  was  the  usual  type  of  landlady  confront- 

202 


MISS  BAYLIS 


203 


ing  him,  a  more  than  middle-aged  person  who  desired  to 
look  younger,  and  made  attempts  in  the  way  of  false 
hair,  teeth,  and  a  little  rouge,  and  who  wore  that  some- 
what air  and  smile  which  in  its  wearer — under  these 
circumstances — always  means  that  she  is  considering 
whether  you  will  be  able  to  cheat  her  or  whether  she 
will  be  able  to  see  you. 

"You  wish  to  see  Miss  Baylis?"  said  this  person,  ex- 
amining Spargo  closely.  4  4  Miss  Baylis  does  not  often 
see  anybody." 

6 'I  hope,"  said  Spargo  politely,  "that  Miss  Baylis  is 
not  an  invalid?" 

"No,  she's  not  an  invalid,"  replied  the  landlady; 
"but  she's  not  as  young  as  she  was,  and  she's  an  objec- 
tion to  strangers.    Is  it  anything  I  can  tell  her?" 

"No,"  said  Spargo.  "But  you  can,  if  you  please, 
take  her  a  message  from  me.  "Will  you  kindly  give  her 
my  card,  and  tell  her  that  I  wish  to  ask  her  a  question 
about  John  Maitland  of  Market  Milcaster,  and  that  I 
should  be  much  obliged  if  she  would  give  me  a  few  min- 
utes." 

"Perhaps  you  will  sit  down,"  said  the  landlady.  She 
led  Spargo  into  a  room  which  opened  out  upon  a  garden ; 
in  it  two  or  three  old  ladies,  evidently  inmates,  were 
sitting.  The  landlady  left  Spargo  to  sit  with  them  and 
to  amuse  himself  by  watching  them  knit  or  sew  or  read 
the  papers,  and  he  wondered  if  they  always  did  these 
things  every  day,  and  if  they  would  go  on  doing  them 
until  a  day  would  come  when  they  would  do  them  no 
more,  and  he  was  beginning  to  feel  very  dreary  when  the 
door  opened  and  a  woman  entered  whom  Spargo,  after 


204     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


one  sharp  glance  at  her,  decided  to  be  a  person  who  was 
undoubtedly  out  of  the  common.  And  as  she  slowly 
walked  across  the  room  towards  him  he  let  his  first  glance 
lengthen  into  a  look  of  steady  inspection. 

The  woman  whom  Spargo  thus  narrowly  inspected 
was  of  very  remarkable  appearance.  She  was  almost 
masculine;  she  stood  nearly  six  feet  in  height;  she  was 
of  a  masculine  gait  and  tread,  and  spare,  muscular,  and 
athletic.  What  at  once  struck  Spargo  about  her  face 
was  the  strange  contrast  between  her  dark  eyes  and  her 
white  hair ;  the  hair,  worn  in  abundant  coils  round  a  well- 
shaped  head,  was  of  the  most  snowy  whiteness ;  the  eyes 
of  a  real  coal-blackness,  as  were  also  the  eyebrows  above 
them.  The  features  were  well-cut  and  of  a  striking 
firmness;  the  jaw  square  and  determined.  And  Spargo 's 
first  thought  on  taking  all  this  in  was  that  Miss  Baylis 
seemed  to  have  been  fitted  by  Nature  to  be  a  prison  ward- 
ress, or  the  matron  of  a  hospital,  or  the  governess  of 
an  unruly  girl,  and  he  began  to  wonder  if  he  would  ever 
manage  to  extract  anything  out  of  those  firmly-locked 
lips. 

Miss  Baylis,  on  her  part,  looked  Spargo  over  as  if  she 
was  half-minded  to  order  him  to  instant  execution. 
And  Spargo  was  so  impressed  by  her  that  he  made  a 
profound  bow  and  found  a  difficulty  in  finding  his 
tongue. 

' 1 Mr.  Spargo?"  she  said  in  a  deep  voice  which  seemed 
peculiarly  suited  to  her.  "Of,  I  see,  the  Watchman? 
You  wish  to  speak  to  me!" 

Spargo  again  bowed  in  silence.  She  signed  him  to  the 
window  near  which  they  were  standing. 


MISS  BAYLIS 


205 


"Open  the  casement,  if  you  please/ 9  she  commanded 
him.  "We  will  walk  in  the  garden.  This  is  not  pri- 
vate." 

Spargo  obediently  obeyed  her  orders;  she  swept 
through  the  opened  window  and  he  followed  her.  It 
was  not  until  they  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  garden 
that  she  spoke  again. 

"I  understand  that  you  desire  to  ask  me  some  question 
about  John  Maitland,  of  Market  Milcaster?"  she  said, 
"Before  you  put  it,  I  must  ask  you  a  question.  Do  you 
wish  any  reply  I  may  give  you  for  publication?'' 

"Not  without  your  permission,"  replied  Spargo.  "I 
should  not  think  of  publishing  anything  you  may  tell 
me  except  with  your  express  permission." 

She  looked  at  him  gloomily,  seemed  to  gather  an  im- 
pression of  his  good  faith,  and  nodded  her  head. 

"In  that  case,"  she  said,  "what  do  you  want  to 
ask?" 

"I  have  lately  had  reason  for  making  certain  en- 
quiries about  John  Maitland,"  answered  Spargo.  "I 
suppose  you  read  the  newspapers  and  possibly  the 
Watchman,  Miss  Baylis  ? ' ' 

But  Miss  Baylis  shook  her  head. 

"I  read  no  newspapers,"  she  said.  "I  have  no  in- 
terest in  the  affairs  of  the  world.  I  have  work  which 
occupies  all  my  time :    I  give  my  whole  devotion  to  it. ' ' 

"Then  you  have  not  recently  heard  of  what  is  known 
as  the  Marbury  case — a  case  of  a  man  who  was  found 
murdered?"  asked  Spargo. 

"I  have  not,"  she  answered.  "I  am  not  likely  to  hear 
such  things. '  ' 


206     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Spargo  suddenly  realized  that  the  power  of  the  Press 
is  not  quite  as  great  nor  as  far-reaching  as  very  young 
journalists  hold  it  to  be,  and  that  there  actually  are,  even 
in  London,  people  who  can  live  quite  cheerfully  without 
a  newspaper.  He  concealed  his  astonishment  and  went 
on. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  believe  that  the  murdered  man, 
known  to  the  police  as  John  Marbury,  was,  in  reality, 
your  brother-in-law,  John  Maitland.  In  fact,  Miss 
Bay  lis,  I'm  absolutely  certain  of  it!" 

He  made  this  declaration  with  some  emphasis,  and 
looked  at  his  stern  companion  to  see  how  she  was  im- 
pressed. But  Miss  Baylis  showed  no  sign  of  being  im- 
pressed. 

"I  can  quite  believe  that,  Mr.  Spargo,"  she  said 
coldly.  "It  is  no  surprise  to  me  that  John  Maitland 
should  come  to  such  an  end.  He  was  a  thoroughly  bad 
and  unprincipled  man,  who  brought  the  most  terrible 
disgrace  on  those  who  were,  unfortunately,  connected 
with  him.    He  was  likely  to  die  a  bad  man's  death." 

"I  may  ask  you  a  few  questions  about  him?"  sug- 
gested Spargo  in  his  most  insinuating  manner. 

"You  may,  so  long  as  you  do  not  drag  my  name  into 
the  papers,"  she  replied.  "But  pray,  how  do  you  know 
that  I  have  the  sad  shame  of  being  John  Maitland 's 
sister-in-law  ? ' ' 

"I  found  that  out  at  Market  Milca&ter,"  said  Spargo. 
"The  photographer  told  me — Cooper." 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed. 

"The  questions  I  want  to  ask  are  very  simple,"  said 
Spargo.    "But  your  answers  may  materially  help  me. 


MISS  BAYLIS 


207 


You  remember  Maitland  going  to  prison,  of  course?" 

Miss  Baylis  laughed — a  laugh  of  scorn. 

4 4 Could  I  ever  forget  it?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Did  you  ever  visit  him  in  prison?"  asked  Spargo. 

"  Visit  him  in  prison!"  she  said  indignantly. 
"Visits  in  prison  are  to  be  paid  to  those  who  deserve 
them,  who  are  repentant;  not  to  scoundrels  who  are 
hardened  in  their  sin ! " 

"All  right.  Did  you  ever  see  him  after  he  left 
prison?" 

"I  saw  him,  for  he  forced  himself  upon  me — I  could 
not  help  myself.  He  was  in  my  presence  before  I  was 
aware  that  he  had  even  been  released." 

"What  did  he  come  for?"  asked  Spargo. 

"To  ask  for  his  son — who  had  been  in  my  charge,"  she 
replied. 

"That's  a  thing  I  want  to  know  about,"  said  Spargo. 
"Do  you  know  what  a  certain  lot  of  people  in  Market 
Milcaster  say  to  this  day,  Miss  Baylis? — they  say  that 
you  were  in  at  the  game  with  Maitland;  that  you  had 
a  lot  of  the  money  placed  in  your  charge;  that  when 
Maitland  went  to  prison,  you  took  the  child  away,  first 
to  Brighton,  then  abroad — disappeared  with  him — and 
that  you  made  a  home  ready  for  Maitland  when  he  came 
out.  That's  what's  said  by  some  people  in  Market  Mil- 
caster." 

Miss  Baylis 's  stern  lips  curled. 

"People  in  Market  Milcaster!"  she  exclaimed.  "All 
the  people  I  ever  knew  in  Market  Milcaster  had  about 
as  many  brains  between  them  as  that  cat  on  the  wall 
there.   As  for  making  a  home  for  John  Maitland,  I 


208     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


would  have  seen  him  die  in  the  gutter,  of  absolute  want, 
before  I  would  have  given  him  a  crust  of  dry  bread !" 

"You  appear  to  have  a  terrible  dislike  of  this  man," 
observed  Spargo,  astonished  at  her  vehemence. 

"I  had — and  I  have,"  she  answered.  "He  tricked 
my  sister  into  a  marriage  with  him  when  he  knew  that 
she  would  rather  have  married  an  honest  man  who  wor- 
shipped her;  he  treated  her  with  quiet,  infernal  cruelty; 
he  robbed  her  and  me  of  the  small  fortunes  our  father 
left  us." 

"Ah!"  said  Spargo.  "Well,  so  you  say  Maitland 
came  to  you,  when  he  came  out  of  prison,  to  ask  for  his 
boy.    Did  he  take  the  boy?" 

"No — the  boy  was  dead." 

"Dead,  eh?  Then  I  suppose  Maitland  did  not  stop 
long  with  you?" 

Miss  Baylis  laughed  her  scornful  laugh. 

"I  showed  him  the  door!"  she  said. 

"Well,  did  he  tell  you  that  he  was  going  to  Aus- 
tralia?" enquired  Spargo. 

"I  should  not  have  listened  to  anything  that  he  told 
me,  Mr.  Spargo,"  she  answered. 

"Then,  in  short,"  said  Spargo,  "you  never  heard  of 
him  again?" 

"I  never  heard  of  him  again,"  she  declared  passion- 
ately, "and  I  only  hope  that  what  you  tell  me  is  true, 
and  that  Marbury  really  was  Maitland!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

MOTHER  GUTCII 

Spargo,  having  exhausted  the  list  of  questions  which 
he  had  thought  out  on  his  way  to  Bayswater,  was  about 
to  take  his  leave  of  Miss  Baylis,  when  a  new  idea  sud- 
denly occurred  to  him,  and  he  turned  back  to  that 
formidable  lady. 

4 4 I've  just  thought  of  something  else/'  he  said.  "I 
told  you  that  I'm  certain  Marbury  was  Maitland,  and 
that  he  came  to  a  sad  end — murdered. ' ' 

4 'And  I've  told  you,"  she  replied  scornfully,  "that 
in  my  opinion  no  end  could  be  too  bad  for  him." 

"Just  so — I  understand  you,"  said  Spargo.  "But 
I  didn't  tell  you  that  he  was  not  only  murdered  but 
robbed — robbed  of  probably  a  good  deal.  There's  good 
reason  to  believe  that  he  had  securities,  bank  notes,  loose 
diamonds,  and  other  things  on  him  to  the  value  of  a  large 
amount.  He'd  several  thousand  pounds  when  he  left 
Coolumbidgee,  in  New  South  Wales,  where  he'd  lived 
quietly  for  some  years. ' 9 

Miss  Baylis  smiled  sourly. 

"What's  all  this  to  me?"  she  asked. 

"Possibly  nothing.  But  you  see,  that  money,  those 
securities,  may  be  recovered.    And  as  the  boy  you  speak 

209 


210     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


of  is  dead,  there  surely  must  be  somebody  who 's  entitled 
to  the  lot.  It's  worth  having,  Miss  Baylis,  and  there's 
strong  belief  on  the  part  of  the  police  that  it  will  turn 
up." 

This  was  a  bit  of  ingenious  bluff  on  the  part  of 
Spargo ;  he  watched  its  effect  with  keen  eyes.  But  Miss 
Baylis  was  adamant,  and  she  looked  as  scornful  as  ever. 

"I  say  again  what's  all  that  to  me?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  but  hadn't  the  dead  boy  any  relatives  on  his 
father's  side?"  asked  Spargo.  "I  know  you're  his  aunt 
on  the  mother's  side,  and  as  you're  indifferent  perhaps, 
I  can  find  some  on  the  other  side.  It's  very  easy  to  find 
all  these  things  out,  you  know. ' ' 

Miss  Baylis,  who  had  begun  to  stalk  back  to  the  house 
in  gloomy  and  majestic  fashion,  and  had  let  Spargo  see 
plainly  that  this  part  of  the  interview  was  distasteful  to 
her,  suddenly  paused  in  her  stride  and  glared  at  the 
young  journalist. 

"Easy  to  find  all  these  things  out?"  she  repeated. 

Spargo  caught,  or  fancied  he  caught,  a  note  of  anxiety 
in  her  tone.  He  was  quick  to  turn  his  fancy  to  practical 
purpose. 

"Oh,  easy  enough!"  he  said.  "I  could  find  out  all 
about  Maitland's  family  through  that  boy.  Quite,  quite 
easily!" 

Miss  Baylis  had  stopped  now,  and  stood  glaring  at 
him.    "How?"  she  demanded. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Spargo  with  cheerful  alacrity. 
"It  is,  of  course,  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  trace 
all  about  his  short  life.  I  suppose  I  can  find  the  register 
of  his  birth  at  Market  Milcaster,  and  you,  of  course,  will 


MOTHER  GUTCH 


211 


tell  me  where  he  died.  By  the  by,  when  did  he  die,  Miss 
Baylis?" 

But  Miss  Baylis  was  going  on  again  to  the  house. 

"I  shall  tell  you  nothing  more,"  she  said  angrily. 
"I've  told  you  too  much  already,  and  I  believe  all  you're 
here  for  is  to  get  some  news  for  your  paper.  But  I  will, 
at  any  rate  tell  you  this — when  Maitland  went  to  prison 
his  child  would  have  been  defenceless  but  for  me;  he'd 
have  had  to  go  to  the  workhouse  but  for  me ;  he  hadn 't  a 
single  relation  in  the  world  but  me,  on  either  father 's  or 
mother's  side.  And  even  at  my  age,  old  woman  as  I 
am,  I'd  rather  beg  my  bread  in  the  street,  I'd  rather 
starve  and  die,  than  touch  a  penny  piece  that  had  come 
from  John  Maitland !    That 's  all. ' ' 

Then  without  further  word,  without  offering  to  show 
Spargo  the  way  out,  she  marched  in  at  the  open  win- 
dow and  disappeared.  And  Spargo,  knowing  no  other 
way,  was  about  to  follow  her  when  he  heard  a  sudden 
rustling  sound  in  the  shadow  by  which  they  had  stood, 
and  the  next  moment  a  queer,  cracked,  horrible  voice, 
suggesting  all  sorts  of  things,  said  distinctly  and  yet  in  a 
whisper : 

"Young  man!" 

Spargo  turned  and  stared  at  the  privet  hedge  behind 
him.  It  was  thick  and  bushy,  and  in  its  full  summer 
green,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  a  nondescript 
shape  behind.  "Who's  there?"  he  demanded.  * 6 Some- 
body listening?" 

There  was  a  curious  cackle  of  laughter  from  behind 
the  hedge;  then  the  cracked,  husky  voice  spoke  again. 

"Young  man,  don't  you  move  or  look  as  if  you  were 


212     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

talking  to  anybody.  Do  you  know  where  the  'King  of 
Madagascar'  public-house  is  in  this  quarter  of  the  town, 
young  man?" 

"No!"  answered  Spargo.    "Certainly  not!" 

"Well,  anybody '11  tell  you  when  you  get  outside,  young 
man,"  continued  the  queer  voice  of  the  unseen  person. 
"Go  there,  and  wait  at  the  corner  by  the  'King  of 
Madagascar,'  and  I'll  come  there  to  you  at  the  end  of 
half  an  hour.  Then  I'll  tell  you  something,  young  man 
— I'll  tell  you  something.  Now  run  away,  young  man, 
run  away  to  the  'King  of  Madagascar' — I'm  coming!" 

The  voice  ended  in  low,  horrible  cachinnation  which 
made  Spargo  feel  queer.  But  he  was  young  enough  to 
be  in  love  with  adventure,  and  he  immediately  turned  on 
his  heel  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  privet  hedge, 
and  went  across  the  garden  and  through  the  house,  and 
let  himself  out  at  the  door.  And  at  the  next  corner  of 
the  square  he  met  a  policeman  and  asked  him  if  he  knew 
where  the  "King  of  Madagascar"  was. 

"First  to  the  right,  second  to  the  left,"  answered  the 
policeman  tersely.  "You  can't  miss  it  anywhere  round 
there — it's  a  landmark." 

And  Spargo  found  the  landmark — a  great,  square- 
built  tavern — easily,  and  he  waited  at  a  corner  of  it  won- 
dering what  he  was  going  to  see,  and  intensely  curious 
about  the  owner  of  the  queer  voice,  with  all  its  sugges- 
tions of  he  knew  not  what.  And  suddenly  there  came 
up  to  him  an  old  woman  and  leered  at  him  in  a  fashion 
that  made  him  suddenly  realize  how  dreadful  old  age 
may  be. 

Spargo  had  never  seen  such  an  old  woman  as  this  in 


MOTHER  GUTCH 


213 


his  life.  She  was  dressed  respectably,  better  than  re- 
spectably. Her  gown  was  good ;  her  bonnet  was  smart ; 
her  smaller  fittings  were  good.  But  her  face  was  evil; 
it  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  a  long  devotion  to  the 
bottle;  the  old  eyes  leered  and  ogled,  the  old  lips  were 
wicked.  Spargo  felt  a  sense  of  disgust  almost  amount- 
ing to  nausea,  but  he  was  going  to  hear  what  the  old 
harridan  had  to  say  and  he  tried  not  to  look  what  he 
felt. 

'  ■  Well  V '  he  said,  almost  roughly.  <  6  Well  ? ' ' 
"Well,  young  man,  there  you  are,"  said  his  new  ac- 
quaintance. "Let  us  go  inside,  young  man;  there's  a 
quiet  little  place  where  a  lady  can  sit  and  take  her  drop 
of  gin — 111  show  you.  And  if  you're  good  to  me,  I'll 
tell  you  something  about  that  cat  that  you  were  talking 
to  just  now.  But  you'll  give  me  a  little  matter  to  put 
in  my  pocket,  young  man?  Old  ladies  like  me  have  a 
right  to  buy  little  comforts,  you  know,  little  comforts.' 9 
Spargo  followed  this  extraordinary  person  into  a  small 
parlour  within ;  the  attendant  who  came  in  response  to 
a  ring  showed  no  astonishment  at  her  presence;  he  also 
seemed  to  know  exactly  what  she  required,  which  was 
a  certain  brand  of  gin,  sweetened,  and  warm.  And 
Spargo  watched  her  curiously  as  with  shaking  hand  she 
pushed  up  the  veil  which  hid  little  of  her  wicked  old 
face,  and  lifted  the  glass  to  her  mouth  with  a  zest  which 
was  not  thirst  but  pure  greed  of  liquor.  Almost  in- 
stantly he  saw  a  new  light  steal  into  her  eyes,  and  she 
laughed  in  a  voice  that  grew  clearer  with  every  sound 
she  made. 

"Ah,  young  man!"  she  said  with  a  confidential  nudge 


214     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


of  the  elbow  that  made  Spargo  long  to  get  up  and  fly. 
"I  wanted  that!  It's  done  me  good.  When  I've  fin- 
ished that,  you'll  pay  for  another  for  me — and  perhaps 
another?  They'll  do  me  still  more  good.  And  you'll 
give  me  a  little  matter  of  money,  won't  you,  young 
man?" 

"Not  till  I  know  what  I'm  giving  it  for,"  replied 
Spargo. 

" You '11  be  giving  it  because  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
that  if  it's  made  worth  my  while  I  can  tell  you,  or  some- 
body that  sent  you,  more  about  Jane  Baylis  than  anybody 
in  the  world.  I 'm  not  going  to  tell  you  that  now,  young 
man — I'm  sure  you  don't  carry  in  your  pocket  what 
I  shall  want  for  my  secret,  not  you,  by  the  look  of  you ! 
I'm  only  going  to  show  you  that  I  have  the  secret. 
Eh?" 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Spargo. 

The  woman  leered  and  chuckled.  "What  are  you  go- 
ing to  give  me,  young  man?"  she  asked. 

Spargo  put  his  fingers  in  his  pocket  and  pulled  out 
two  half-sovereigns. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  showing  his  companion  the 
coins,  "if  you  can  tell  me  anything  of  importance  you 
shall  have  these.  But  no  trifling,  now.  And  no  wast- 
ing of  time.    If  you  have  anything  to  tell,  out  with  it ! " 

The  woman  stretched  out  a  trembling,  claw-like  hand. 

' '  But  let  me  hold  one  of  those,  young  man ! ' '  she  im- 
plored.  "Let  me  hold  one  of  the  beautiful  bits  of  gold. 
I  shall  tell  you  all  the  better  if  I  hold  one  of  them.  Let 
me — there's  a  good  young  gentleman." 


MOTHER  GUTCH 


215 


Spargo  gave  her  one  of  the  coins,  and  resigned  him- 
self to  his  fate,  whatever  it  might  be. 

' ' You  won't  get  the  other  unless  you  tell  something," 
he  said.    ' '  Who  are  you,  anyway  ? ' ' 

The  woman,  who  had  begun  mumbling  and  chuckling 
over  the  half-sovereign,  grinned  horribly. 

"At  the  boarding-house  yonder,  young  man,  they 
call  me  Mother  Gutch,"  she  answered;  "but  my  proper 
name  is  Mrs.  Sabina  Gutch,  and  once  upon  a  time  I  was 
a  good-looking  young  woman.  And  when  my  husband 
died  I  went  to  Jane  Baylis  as  housekeeper,  and  when  she 
retired  from  that  and  came  to  live  in  that  boarding- 
house  where  we  live  now,  she  was  forced  to  bring  me 
with  her  and  to  keep  me.  Why  had  she  to  do  that,  young 
man?" 

"Heaven  knows!"  answered  Spargo. 

"Because  I've  got  a  hold  on  her,  young  man — I've 
got  a  secret  of  hers,"  continued  Mother  Gutch.  "She'd 
be  scared  to  death  if  she  knew  I'd  been  behind  that 
hedge  and  had  heard  what  she  said  to  you,  and  she'd 
be  more  than  scared  if  she  knew  that  you  and  I  were 
here,  talking.  But  she's  grown  hard  and  near  with, 
me,  and  she  won't  give  me  a  penny  to  get  a  drop  of  any- 
thing with,  and  an  old  woman  like  me  has  a  right  to 
her  little  comforts,  and  if  you'll  buy  the  secret,  young 
man,  I  '11  split  on  her,  there  and  then,  when  you  pay  the 
money." 

"Before  I  talk  about  buying  any  secret,"  said  Spargo, 
"you'll  have  to  prove  to  me  that  you've  a  secret  to  sell 
that's  worth  my  buying." 


216     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"And  I  will  prove  it!"  said  Mother  Gutch  with  sud- 
den fierceness.  "Touch  the  bell,  and  let  me  have  an- 
other glass,  and  then  I'll  tell  you.  Now,"  she  went  on, 
more  quietly — Spargo  noticed  that  the  more  she  drank, 
the  more  rational  she  became,  and  chat  her  nerves  seemed 
to  gain  strength  and  her  whole  appearance  to  be  im- 
proved— "now,  you  came  to  her  to  find  out  about  her 
brother-in-law,  Maitland,  that  went  to  prison,  didn't 
you?" 

"Well?"  demanded  Spargo. 

"And  about  that  boy  of  his?"  she  continued. 

"You  heard  all  that  was  said,"  answered  Spargo, 
"I'm  waiting  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say." 

But  Mother  Gutch  was  resolute  in  having  her  own 
way.    She  continued  her  questions: 

"And  she  told  you  that  Maitland  came  and  asked  for 
the  boy,  and  that  she  told  him  the  boy  was  dead,  didn't 
she?"  she  went  on. 

"Well?"  said  Spargo  despairingly.  "She  did. 
What  then?" 

Mother  Gutch  took  an  appreciative  pull  at  he^  glass 
and  smiled  knowingly.  "What  then?"  she  chuckled. 
"All  lies,  young  man,  the  boy  isn't  dead — buy  more  than 
I  am.    And  my  secret  is  " 

"Well?"  demanded  Spargo  impatiently.  "What  is 
it?" 

"This!"  answered  Mother  Gutch,  digging  her  com- 
panion in  the  ribs,  "I  know  what  she  did  with  him!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 


REVELATIONS 

Spargo  turned  on  his  disreputable  and  dissolute  com- 
panion with  all  his  journalistic  energies  and  instincts 
roused.  He  had  not  been  sure,  since  entering  the  6 '  King 
of  Madagascar/'  that  he  was  going  to  hear  anything 
material  to  the  Middle  Temple  Murder;  he  had  more 
than  once  feared  that  this  old  gin-drinking  harridan  was 
deceiving  him,  for  the  purpose  of  extracting  drink  and 
money  from  him.  But  now,  at  the  mere  prospect  of 
getting  important  information  from  her,  he  forgot  all 
about  Mother  Gutch 's  unfortunate  propensities,  evil 
eyes,  and  sodden  face ;  he  only  saw  in  her  somebody  who 
could  tell  him  something.    He  turned  on  her  eagerly. 

"You  say  that  John  Maitland's  son  didn't  die!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"The  boy  did  not  die,"  replied  Mother  Gutch. 
"And  that  you  know  where  he  is?"  asked  Spargo. 
Mother  Gutch  shook  her  head. 

"I  didn't  say  that  I  know  where  he  is,  young  man," 
she  replied.    4 6  I  said  I  knew  what  she  did  with  him. ' ' 

"What,  then?"  demanded  Spargo. 

Mother  Gutch  drew  herself  up  in  a  vast  assumption 
of  dignity,  and  favoured  Spargo  with  a  look. 

4 *  That 's  the  secret,  young  man, ' '  she  said.  "  I 'm  will- 
217 


218      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


ing  to  sell  that  secret,  but  not  for  two  half-sovereigns 
and  two  or  three  drops  of  cold  gin.  If  Maitland  left 
all  that  money  you  told  Jane  Baylis  of,  when  I  was 
listening  to  you  from  behind  the  hedge,  my  secret's  worth 
something." 

Spargo  suddenly  remembered  his  bit  of  bluff  to  Miss 
Baylis.    Here  was  an  unexpected  result  of  it. 

"Nobody  but  me  can  help  you  to  trace  Maitland 's 
boy,"  continued  Mother  Gutch,  ' 1 and  I  shall  expect  to  be 
paid  accordingly.    That's  plain  language,  young  man." 

Spargo  considered  the  situation  in  silence  for  a  minute 
or  two.  Could  this  wretched,  bibulous  old  woman  really 
be  in  possession  of  a  secret  which  would  lead  to  the 
solving  of  the  mystery  of  the  Middle  Temple  Murder? 
Well,  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  the  Watchman  if  the 
clearing  up  of  everything  came  through  one  of  its  men. 
And  the  Watchman  was  noted  for  being  generous  even 
to  extravagance  in  laying  out  money  on  all  sorts  of  ob- 
jects :  it  had  spent  money  like  water  on  much  less  serious 
matters  than  this. 

''How  much  do  you  want  for  your  secret?"  he  sud- 
denly asked,  turning  to  his  companion. 

Mother  Gutch  began  to  smooth  out  a  pleat  in  her 
gown.  It  was  really  wonderful  to  Spargo  to  find  how 
very  sober  and  normal  this  old  harridan  had  become; 
he  did  not  understand  that  her  nerves  had  been  all 
a-quiver  and  on  edge  when  he  first  met  her,  and  that  a 
resort  to  her  favourite  form  of  alcohol  in  liberal  quantity 
had  calmed  and  quickened  them;  secretly  he  was  re- 
garding her  with  astonishment  as  the  most  extraordinary 
old  person  he  had  ever  met,  and  he  was  almost  afraid 


REVELATIONS 


219 


of  her  as  lie  waited  for  her  decision.  At  last  Mother 
Gutch  spoke. 

4 * Well,  young  man/'  she  said,  "having  considered 
matters,  and  having  a  right  to  look  well  to  myself,  I  think 
that  what  I  should  prefer  to  have  would  be  one  of  those 
annuities.  A  nice,  comfortable  annuity,  paid  weekly 
— none  of  your  monthlies  or  quarterlies,  but  regular 
and  punctual,  every  Saturday  morning.  Or  Monday 
morning,  as  was  convenient  to  the  parties  concerned — 
but  punctual  and  regular.  I  know  a  good  many  ladies 
in  my  sphere  of  life  as  enjoys  annuities,  and  it's  a  great 
comfort  to  have  'em  paid  weekly." 

It  occurred  to  Spargo  that  Mrs.  Gutch  would  probably 
get  rid  of  her  weekly  dole  on  the  day  it  was  paid,  whether 
that  day  happened  to  be  Monday  or  Saturday,  but  that, 
after  all,  was  no  concern  of  his,  so  he  came  back  to  first 
principles. 

"Even  now  you  haven't  said  how  much,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"Three  pound  a  week,"  replied  Mother  Gutch. 
"And  cheap,  too!" 

Spargo  thought  hard  for  two  minutes.  The  secret 
might — might! — lead  to  something  big.  This  wretched 
old  woman  would  probably  drink  herself  to  death  within 
a  year  or  two.  Anyhow,  a  few  hundreds  of  pounds  was 
nothing  to  the  Watchman.  He  glanced  at  his  watch. 
At  that  hour — for  the  next  hour — the  great  man  of  the 
Watchman  would  be  at  the  office.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet,  suddenly  resolved  and  alert. 

"Here,  I'll  take  you  to  see  my  principals,"  he  said, 
"Well  run  along  in  a  taxi-cab." 


220     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


' ' "With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world,  young  man,"  re- 
plied Mother  Gutch;  1 6 when  you've  given  me  that  other 
half-sovereign.  As  for  principals,  I'd  far  rather  talk 
business  with  masters  than  with  men — though  I  mean  no 
disrespect  to  you." 

Spargo,  feeling  that  he  was  in  for  it,  handed  over  the 
second  half-sovereign,  and  busied  himself  in  ordering  a 
taxi-cab.  But  when  that  came  round  he  had  to  wait 
while  Mrs.  Gutch  consumed  a  third  glass  of  gin  and  pur- 
chased a  flask  of  the  same  beverage  to  put  in  her  pocket. 
At  last  he  got  her  off,  and  in  due  course  to  the  Watchman 
office,  where  the  hall-porter  and  the  messenger  boys 
stared  at  her  in  amazement,  well  used  as  they  were  to 
seeing  strange  folk,  and  he  got  her  to  his  own  room,  and 
locked  her  in,  and  then  he  sought  the  presence  of  the 
mighty. 

What  Spargo  said  to  his  editor  and  to  the  great  man 
who  controlled  the  fortunes  and  workings  of  the  Watch- 
man  he  never  knew.  It  was  probably  fortunate  for  him 
that  they  were  both  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  facts 
of  the  Middle  Temple  Murder,  and  saw  that  there  might 
be  an  advantage  in  securing  the  revelations  of  which 
Spargo  had  got  the  conditional  promise.  At  any  rate, 
they  accompanied  Spargo  to  his  room,  intent  on  seeing, 
hearing  and  bargaining  with  the  lady  he  had  locked  up 
there. 

Spargo  7s  room  smelt  heavily  of  unsweetened  gin,  but 
Mother  Gutch  was  soberer  than  ever.  She  insisted  upon 
being  introduced  to  proprietor  and  editor  in  due  and 
proper  form,  and  in  discussing  terms  with  them  before 
going  into  any  further  particulars.    The  editor  was  all 


REVELATIONS 


221 


for  temporizing  with  her  until  something  could  be  done 
to  find  out  what  likelihood  of  truth  there  was  in  her,  but 
the  proprietor,  after  sizing  her  up  in  his  own  shrewd 
fashion,  took  his  two  companions  out  of  the  room. 

k  £  We  '11  hear  what  the  old  woman  has  to  say  on  her  own 
terms,'7  he  said.  "She  may  have  something  to  tell  that 
is  really  of  the  greatest  importance  in  this  case :  she  cer- 
tainly has  something  to  tell.  And,  as  Spargo  says,  she  11 
probably  drink  herself  to  death  in  about  as  short  a  time 
as  possible.  Come  back — let's  hear  her  story."  So  they 
returned  to  the  gin-scented  atmosphere,  and  a  formal 
document  was  drawn  out  by  which  the  proprietor  of  the 
Watchman  bound  himself  to  pay  Mrs.  Gutch  the  sum  of 
three  pounds  a  week  for  life  (Mrs.  Gutch  insisting  on  the 
insertion  of  the  words  ' '  every  Saturday  morning,  punc- 
tual and  regular")  and  then  Mrs.  Gutch  was  invited  to 
tell  her  tale.  And  Mrs.  Gutch  settled  herself  to  do  so, 
and  Spargo  prepared  to  take  it  down,  word  for  word. 

"Which  the  story,  as  that  young  man  called  it,  is  not 
so  long  as  a  monkey's  tail  nor  so  short  as  a  Manx  cat's, 
gentlemen/'  said  Mrs.  Gutch;  "but  full  of  meat  as  an 
egg.  Now,  you  see,  when  that  Maitland  affair  at  Market 
Milcaster  came  off,  I  was  housekeeper  to  Miss  Jane  Bay- 
lis  at  Brighton.  She  kept  a  boarding-house  there,  ir 
Kemp  Town,  and  close  to  the  sea-front,  and  a  very  good 
thing  she  made  out  of  it,  and  had  saved  a  nice  bit,  and 
having,  like  her  sister,  Mrs.  Maitland,  had  a  little  fortune 
left  her  by  her  father,  as  was  at  one  time  a  publican  here 
in  London,  she  had  a  good  lump  of  money.  And  all 
that  money  was  in  this  here  Maitland 's  hands,  every 
penny.    I  very  well  remember  the  day  when  the  news 


222     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


came  about  that  affair  of  Maitland  robbing  the  bank. 
Miss  Baylis,  she  was  like  a  mad  thing  when  she  saw  it  in 
the  paper,  and  before  she'd  seen  it  an  hour  she  was  off 
to  Market  Mileaster.  I  went  up  to  the  station  with  her, 
and  she  told  me  then  before  she  got  in  the  train  that 
Maitland  had  all  her  fortune  and  her  savings,  and  her 
sister's,  his  wife's,  too,  and  that  she  feared  all  would  be 
lost." 

"Mrs.  Maitland  was  then  dead,"  observed  Spargo 
without  looking  up  from  his  writing-block. 

"She  was,  young  man,  and  a  good  thing,  too,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Gutch.  "Well,  away  went  Miss  Baylis,  and 
no  more  did  I  hear  or  see  for  nearly  a  week,  and  then 
back  she  comes,  and  brings  a  little  boy  with  her — which 
was  Maitland 's.  And  she  told  me  that  night  that  she'd 
lost  every  penny  she  had  in  the  world,  and  that  her 
sister's  money,  what  ought  to  have  been  the  child's,  was 
gone,  too,  and  she  said  her  say  about  Maitland.  How- 
ever, she  saw  well  to  that  child ;  nobody  could  have  seen 
better.  And  very  soon  after,  when  Maitland  was  sent 
to  prison  for  ten  years,  her  and  me  talked  about  things. 
' What's  the  use,'  says  I  to  her,  'of  your  letting  yourself 
get  so  fond  of  that  child,  and  looking  after  it  as  you 
do,  and  educating  it,  and  so  on?'  I  says.  'Why  not?' 
says  she.  6  'Tisn't  yours/  I  says,  'you  haven't  no  right 
to  it,'  I  says.  'As  soon  as  ever  its  father  comes  out;/ 
says  I,  'he'll  come  and  claim  it,  and  you  can't  do  nothing 
to  stop  him.'  Well,  gentlemen,  if  you'll  believe  me, 
never  did  I  see  a  woman  look  as  she  did  when  I  says  all 
that.    And  she  up  and  swore  that  Maitland  should  never 


REVELATIONS 


223 


see  or  touch  the  child  again — not  under  no  circumstances 
whatever." 

Mrs.  Gutch  paused  to  take  a  little  refreshment  from 
her  pocket-flask,  with  an  apologetic  remark  as  to  the  state 
of  her  heart.  She  resumed,  presently,  apparently  re- 
freshed. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  that  notion,  about  Maitland 's  tak- 
ing the  child  away  from  her  seemed  to  get  on  her  mind, 
and  she  used  to  talk  to  me  at  times  about  it,  always  say- 
ing the  same  thing — that  Maitland  should  never  have 
him.  And  one  day  she  told  me  she  was  going  to  London 
to  see.  lawyers  about  it,  and  she  went,  and  she  came  back, 
seeming  more  satisfied,  and  a  day  or  two  afterwards, 
there  came  a  gentleman  who  looked  like  a  lawyer,  and  he 
stopped  a  day  or  two,  and  he  came  again  and  again,  un- 
til one  day  she  came  to  me,  and  she  says,  'You  don't  know 
who  that  gentleman  is  that's  come  so  much  lately?'  she 
says.  'Not  I,'  I  says,  'unless  he's  after  you.'  'After 
me ! '  she  says,  tossing  her  head :  '  That 's  the  gentleman 
that  ought  to  have  married  my  poor  sister  if  that  scoun- 
drel Maitland  hadn't  tricked  her  into  throwing  him 
over!'  'You  don't  say  so!'  I  says.  'Then  by  rights  he 
ought  to  have  been  the  child's  pa!'  'He's  going  to  be  a 
father  to  the  boy,'  she  says.  'He's  going  to  take  him 
and  educate  him  in  the  highest  fashion,  and  make  a  gen- 
tleman of  him,'  she  says,  'for  his  mother's  sake.' 
'Mercy  on  us!'  says  I.  'What '11  Maitland  say  wrhen  he 
comes  for  him?'  'Maitland '11  never  come  for  him,' 
she  says,  'for  I'm  going  to  leave  here,  and  the  boy '11  be 
gone  before  then.    This  is  all  being  done,'  she  says,  'so 


224     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


that  the  child '11  never  know  his  father's  shame — he'll 
never  know  who  his  father  was.'  And  true  enough,  the 
boy  was  taken  away,  but  Maitland  came  before  she'd 
gone,  and  she  told  him  the  child  was  dead,  and  I  never 
see  a  man  so  cut  up.  However,  it  wasn't  no  concern  of 
mine.  And  so  there's  so  much  of  the  secret,  gentlemen, 
and  I  would  like  to  know  if  I  ain't  giving  good  value." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  proprietor.  "Go  on."  But 
Spar  go  intervened. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  name  of  the  gentleman  who 
took  the  boy  away  ? "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  replied  Mrs.  Gutch.  "Of  course  I  did. 
Which  it  was  Elphick." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX 

STILL  SILENT 

Spargo  dropped  his  pen  on  the  desk  before  him  with 
a  sharp  clatter  that  made  Mrs.  Gutch  jump.  A  steady 
devotion  to  the  bottle  had  made  her  nerves  to  be  none 
of  the  strongest,  and  she  looked  at  the  startler  of  them 
with  angry  malevolence. 

" Don't  do  that  again,  young  man!"  she  exclaimed 
sharply.  "I  can't  a-bear  to  be  jumped  out  of  my  skin, 
and  it's  bad  manners.  I  observed  that  the  gentle- 
man's name  was  Elphick." 

Spargo  contrived  to  get  in  a  glance  at  his  proprietor 
and  his  editor — a  glance  which  came  near  to  being  a 
wink. 

"Just  so — Elphick,"  he  said.  "A  law  gentleman  I 
think  you  said,  Mrs.  Gutch ?" 

"I  said,"  answered  Mrs.  Gutch,  "as  how  he  looked  like 
a  lawyer  gentleman.  And  since  you're  so  particular, 
young  man,  though  I  wasn't  addressing  you  but  your 
principals,  he  was  a  lawyer  gentleman.  One  of  the  sort 
that  wears  wigs  and  gowns — ain't  I  seen  his  picture  in 
Jane  Baylis's  room  at  the  boarding-house  where  you  saw 
her  this  morning?" 

"Elderly  man?"  asked  Spargo. 

"Elderly  he  will  be  now,"  replied  the  informant; 
"but  when  he  took  the  boy  away  he  was  a  middle-aged 

225 


226     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

man.  About  his  age,"  she  added,  pointing  to  the  editor 
in  a  fashion  which  made  that  worthy  man  wince  and  the 
proprietor  desire  to  laugh  unconsumedly ;  "and  not  so 
very  unlike  him  neither,  being  one  as  had  no  hair  on  his 
face.' ' 

"Ah!"  said  Spargo.    "And  where  did  this  Mr.  El- 
pliick  take  the  boy,  Mrs.  Gutch?" 
But  Mrs.  Gutch  shook  her  head. 

"Ain't  no  idea,"  she  said.  "He  took  him.  Then,  as 
I  told  you,  Maitland  came,  and  Jane  Baylis  told  him 
that  the  boy  was  dead.  And  after  that  she  never  even 
told  me  anything  about  the  boy.  She  kept  a  tight 
tongue.  Once  or  twice  I  asked  her,  and  she  says,  *  Never 
you  mind/  she  says;  'he's  all  right  for  life,  if  he  lives  to 
be  as  old  as  Methusalem.'  And  she  never  said  more,  and 
I  never  said  more.  But,"  continued  Mrs.  Gutch,  whose 
pocket-flask  was  empty,  and  who  began  to  wipe  tears 
away,  "she's  treated  me  hard  has  Jane  Baylis,  never 
allowing  me  a  little  comfort  such  as  a  lady  of  my  age 
should  have,  and  when  I  hears  the  two  of  you  a-talking 
this  morning  the  other  side  of  that  privet  hedge,  thinks 
I,  'Now's  the  time  to  have  my  knife  into  you,  my  fine 
madam!'    And  I  hope  I  done  it." 

Spargo  looked  at  the  editor  and  the  proprietor,  nod- 
ding his  head  slightly.  He  meant  them  to  understand 
that  he  had  got  all  he  wanted  from  Mother  Gutch. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Mrs.  Gutch,  when  you 
leave  here?"  he  asked.  "You  shall  be  driven  straight 
back  to  Bayswater,  if  you  like." 

"Which  I  shall  be  obliged  for,  young  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Gutch,  "and  likewise  for  the  first  week  of  the  annuity, 


STILL  SILENT 


227 


and  will  call  every  Saturday  for  the  same  at  eleven 
punctual,  or  can  be  posted  to  me  on  a  Friday,  whichever 
is  agreeable  to  you  gentlemen.  And  having  my  first 
week  in  my  purse,  and  being  driven  to  Bayswater,  I  shall 
take  my  boxes  and  go  to  a  friend  of  mine  where  I  shall 
be  hearty  welcome,  shaking  the  dust  of  my  feet  off  against 
Jane  Baylis  and  where  I've  been  living  with  her." 

"Yes,  but,  Mrs.  Gutch,"  said  Spargo,  with  some 
anxiety,  "if  you  go  back  there  tonight,  you'll  be  very 
careful  not  to  tell  Miss  Baylis  that  youVe  been  here  and 
told  us  all  this?" 

Mrs.  Gutch  rose,  dignified  and  composed. 

"Young  man,"  she  said,  "you  mean  well,  but  you 
ain't  used  to  dealing  with  ladies.  I  can  keep  my  tongue 
as  still  as  anybody  when  I  like.  I  wouldn't  tell  Jane 
Baylis  my  affairs — my  new  affairs,  gentlemen,  thanks 
to  you — not  for  two  annuities,  paid  twice  a  week ! ' ' 

"Take  Mrs.  Gutch  downstairs,  Spargo,  and  see  her 
all  right,  and  then  come  to  my  room,"  said  the  editor. 
"And  don't  you  forget,  Mrs.  Gutch — keep  a  quiet  tongue 
in  your  head — no  more  talk — or  there'll  be  no  annuities 
on  Saturday  mornings." 

So  Spargo  took  Mother  Gutch  to  the  cashier's  depart- 
ment and  paid  her  her  first  week's  money,  and  he  got 
her  a  taxi-cab,  and  paid  for  it,  and  saw  her  depart,  and 
then  he  went  to  the  editor's  room,  strangely  thoughtful. 
The  editor  and  the  proprietor  were  talking,  but  they 
stopped  when  Spargo  entered  and  looked  at  him  eagerly. 

"I  think  we've  done  it,"  said  Spargo  quietly. 

"What,  precisely,  have  we  found  out?"  asked  the 
editor. 


228     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"A  great  deal  more  than  I'd  anticipated,"  answered 
Spargo,  1  'and  I  don't  know  what  fields  it  doesn't  open 
out.  If  you  look  back,  you'll  remember  that  the  only 
thing  found  on  Marbury's  body  was  a  scrap  of  grey 
paper  on  which  was  a  name  and  address — Ronald  Breton, 
King's  Bench  Walk." 

"Well!" 

"Breton  is  a  young  barrister.  Also  he  writes  a  bit 
— I  have  accepted  two  or  three  articles  of  his  for  our 
literary  page." 

"Well?" 

"Further,  he  is  engaged  to  Miss  Aylmore,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Aylmore,  the  Member  of  Parliament  who 
has  been  charged  at  Bow  Street  today  with  the  murder 
of  Marbury." 

' '  I  know.    Well,  what  then,  Spargo  ? ' ' 

"But  the  most  important  matter,"  continued  Spargo, 
speaking  very  deliberately,  "is  this — that  is,  taking 
that  old  woman's  statement  to  be  true,  as  I  personally 
believe  it  is — that  Breton,  as  he  has  told  me  himself  (I 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him)  was  brought  up  by  a 
guardian.  That  guardian  is  Mr.  Septimus  Elphick,  the 
barrister. ' ' 

The  proprietor  and  the  editor  looked  at  each  other. 
Their  faces  wore  the  expression  of  men  thinking  on  the 
same  lines  and  arriving  at  the  same  conclusion.  And 
the  proprietor  suddenly  turned  on  Spargo  with  a  sharp 
interrogation:    "You  think  then  " 

Spargo  nodded. 

"I  think  that  Mr.  Septimus  Elphick  is  the  Elphick, 


STILL  SILENT  229 

and  that  Breton  is  the  young  Maitland  of  whom  Mrs. 
Gutch  has  been  talking/'  he  answered. 

The  editor  got  up,  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
began  to  pace  the  room. 

"If  that's  so,"  he  said,  "if  that's  so,  the  mystery 
deepens.    What  do  you  propose  to  do,  Spargo?" 

"I  think,"  said  Spargo,  slowly,  "X  think  that  without 
telling  him  anything  of  what  we  have  learnt,  I  should 
like  to  see  young  Breton  and  get  an  introduction  from 
him  to  Mr.  Elphick.  I  can  make  a  good  excuse  for  want- 
ing an  interview  with  him.  If  you  will  leave  it  in  my 
hands  " 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  the  proprietor,  waving  a  hand. 
"Leave  it  entirely  in  Spargo 's  hands." 

"Keep  me  informed,"  said  the  editor.  "Do  what 
you  think.    It  strikes  me  you're  on  the  track." 

Spargo  left  their  presence,  and  going  back  to  his 
own  room,  still  faintly  redolent  of  the  personality  of 
Mrs.  Gutch,  got  hold  of  the  reporter  who  had  been 
present  at  Bow  Street  when  Aylmore  was  brought  up 
that  morning.  There  was  nothing  new;  the  authorities 
had  merely  asked  for  another  remand.  So  far  as  the 
reporter  knew,  Aylmore  had  said  nothing  fresh  to  any- 
body. 

Spargo  went  round  to  the  Temple  and  up  to  Ronald 
Breton's  chambers.  He  found  the  young  barrister  just 
preparing  to  leave,  and  looking  unusually  grave  and 
thoughtful.  At  sight  of  Spargo  he  turned  back  from 
his  outer  door,  beckoned  the  journalist  to  follow  him, 
and  led  him  into  an  inner  room. 


230      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"I  say.  Spargo!"  he  said,  as  he  motioned  his  visitor 
to  take  a  chair.  "This  is  becoming  something  more  than 
serious.  You  know  what  you  told  me  to  do  yesterday 
as  regards  Aylmore  ? ' ' 

"To  get  him  to  tell  all? — Yes/'  said  Spargo. 

Breton  shook  his  head. 

"Stratton — his  solicitor,  you  know — and  I  saw  him 
this  morning  before  the  police-court  proceedings."  he 
continued.  "I  told  him  of  my  talk  with  you:  I  even 
went  as  far  as  to  tell  him  that-  his  daughters  had  been  to 
the  Watchman  office.  Stratton  and  I  both  begged  him 
to  take  your  advice  and  tell  all,  everything,  no  matter 
at  what  cost  to  his  private  feelings.  We  pointed  out  to 
him  the  serious  nature  of  the  evidence  against  him ;  how 
lie  had  damaged  himself  by  not  telling  the  whole  truth 
at  once ;  how  he  had  certainly  done  a  great  deal  to  excite 
suspicion  against  himself :  how.  as  the  evidence  stands 
at  present,  any  jury  could  scarcely  do  less  than  convict 
him.    And  it  was  all  no  good.  Spargo  [M 

"He  won't  say  anything?" 

"He'll  say  no  more.  He  was  adamant.  i I  told  the 
entire  truth  in  respect  to  my  dealings  with  Marbury  on 
the  night  he  met  his  death  at  the  inquest. '  he  said,  over 
and  over  again,  'and  I  shall  say  nothing  further  on  any 
consideration.  If  the  law  likes  to  hang  an  innocent  man 
on  such  evidence  as  that,  let  it!'  And  he  persisted  in 
that  until  we  left  him.  Spargo,  I  don't  know  what's 
to  be  done." 

"And  nothing  happened  at  the  police-court?" 

1 '  Nothing — another  remand.  Stratton  and  I  saw  Ayl- 
more again  before  he  was  removed.    He  left  us  with  a 


STILL  SILENT 


231 


sort  of  sardonic  remark — 'If  you  all  want  to  prove  me 
innocent/  he  said,  'find  the  guilty  man.'  " 

"Well,  there  was  a  tremendous  lot  of  common  sense 
in  that, ' '  said  Spargo. 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  how,  how,  how  is  it  going  to  be 
done?"  exclaimed  Breton.  "Are  you  any  nearer — is 
Rathbury  any  nearer?  Is  there  the  slightest  clue  that 
will  fasten  the  guilt  on  anybody  else?" 

Spargo  gave  no  answer  to  these  questions.  He  re- 
mained silent  a  while,  apparently  thinking. 

"Was  Rathbury  in  court ?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"He  was,"  replied  Breton.  "He  was  there  with  two 
or  three  other  men  who  I  suppose  were  detectives,  and 
seemed  to  be  greatly  interested  in  Aylmore." 

"If  I  don't  see  Rathbury  tonight  111  see  him  in  the 
morning,"  said  Spargo.  He  rose  as  if  to  go,  but  after 
lingering  a  moment,  sat  down  again.  "Look  here,"  he 
continued,  "I  don't  know  how  this  thing  stands  in  law, 
but  would  it  be  a  very  weak  case  against  Aylmore  if  the 
prosecution  couldn't  show  some  motive  for  his  killing 
Marbury?" 

Breton  smiled. 

"There's  no  necessity  to  prove  motive  in  murder," 
he  said.  "But  I'll  tell  you  what,  Spargo — if  the  prose- 
cution can  show  that  Aylmore  had  a  motive  for  getting 
rid  of  Marbury,  if  they  could  prove  that  it  was  to  Ayl- 
more's  advantage  to  silence  him — why,  then,  I  don't 
think  he's  a  chance." 

"I  see.  But  so  far  no  motive,  no  reason  for  his  kill- 
ing Marbury  has  been  shown." 

"I  know  of  none." 


232     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Spar  go  rose  and  moved  to  the  door. 

"Well,  I'm  off,"  he  said.  Then,  as  if  he  suddenly 
recollected  something,  he  turned  back.  1 '  Oh,  by  the  by, ' 9 
he  said,  "isn't  your  guardian,  Mr.  Elphick,  a  big  au- 
thority on  philately?" 

"One  of  the  biggest.    Awful  enthusiast. ' 9 

"Do  you  think  he'd  tell  me  a  bit  about  those  Austra- 
lian stamps  which  Marbury  showed  to  Criedir,  the 
dealer?" 

"Certain,  he  would — delighted.  Here" — and  Breton 
scribbled  a  few  words  on  a  card — "there's  his  address 
and  a  word  from  me.  I'll  tell  you  when  you  can  always 
find  him  in,  five  nights  out  of  seven — at  nine  o'clock, 
after  he's  dined.  I'd  go  with  you  tonight,  but  I  must 
go  to  Aylmore's.    The  two  girls  are  in  terrible  trouble." 

"Give  them  a  message  from  me,"  said  Spargo  as  they 
went  out  together.  "Tell  them  to  keep  up  their  hearts 
and  their  courage." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN 


MR.  ELPHICK 'S  CHAMBERS 

Spargo  went  round  again  to  the  Temple  that  night  at 
nine  o'clock,  asking  himself  over  and  over  again  two 
questions — the  first,  how  much  does  Elphick  know?  the 
second,  how  much  shall  I  tell  him? 

The  old  house  in  the  Temple  to  which  he  repaired 
and  in  which  many  a  generation  of  old  fogies  had  lived 
since  the  days  of  Queen  Anne,  was  full  of  stairs  and 
passages,  and  as  Spargo  had  forgotten  to  get  the  exact 
number  of  the  set  of  chambers  he  wanted,  he  was  obliged 
to  wander  about  in  what  was  a  deserted  building.  So 
wandering,  he  suddenly  heard  steps,  firm,  decisive  steps 
coming  up  a  staircase  which  he  himself  had  just  climbed. 
He  looked  over  the  banisters  down  into  the  hollow  be- 
neath. And  there,  marching  up  resolutely,  was  the 
figure  of  a  tall,  veiled  woman,  and  Spargo  suddenly  real- 
ized, with  a  sharp  quickening  of  his  pulses,  that  for  the 
second  time  that  day  he  was  beneath  one  roof  with  Miss 
Baylis. 

Spargo 's  mind  acted  quickly.  Knowing  what  he  now 
knew,  from  his  extraordinary  dealings  with  Mother 
Gutch,  he  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  Miss  Baylis  had 
come  to  see  Mr.  Elphick — come,  of  course,  to  tell  Mr. 
Elphick  that  he,  Spargo,  had  visited  her  that  morning, 

233 


234     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


and  that  he  was  on  the  track  of  the  Maitland  secret  his- 
tory. He  had  never  thought  of  it  before,  for  he  had 
been  busily  engaged  since  the  departure  of  Mother 
Gutch;  but,  naturally,  Miss  Baylis  and  Mr.  Elphiek 
would  keep  in  communication  with  each  other.  At  any 
rate,  here  she  was,  and  her  destination  was,  surely,  El- 
phick ?s  chambers.  And  the  question  for  him,  Spargo, 
was — what  to  do  ? 

What  Spargo  did  was  to  remain  in  absolute  silence, 
motionless,  tense,  where  he  was  on  the  stair,  and  to  trust 
to  the  chance  that  the  woman  did  not  look  up.  But  Miss 
Baylis  neither  looked  up  nor  down :  she  reached  a  land- 
ing, turned  along  a  corridor  with  decision,  and  marched 
forward.  A  moment  later  Spargo  heard  a  sharp  double 
knock  on  a  door:  a  moment  after  that  he  heard  a  door 
heavily  shut ;  he  knew  then  that  Miss  Baylis  had  sought 
and  gained  admittance — somewhere. 

To  find  out  precisely  where  that  somewhere  was  drew 
Spargo  down  to  the  landing  which  Miss  Baylis  had  just 
left.  There  was  no  one  about — he  had  not,  in  fact,  seen 
a  soul  since  he  entered  the  building.  Accordingly  he 
went  along  the  corridor  into  which  he  had  seen  Miss 
Baylis  turn.  He  knew  that  all  the  doors  in  that  house 
were  double  ones,  and  that  the  outer  oak  in  each  was 
solid  and  substantial  enough  to  be  sound  proof.  Yet,  as 
men  will  under  such  circumstances,  he  walked  softly; 
he  said  to  himself,  smiling  at  the  thought,  that  he  would 
be  sure  to  start  if  somebody  suddenly  opened  a  door  on 
him.  But  no  hand  opened  any  door,  and  at  last  he  came 
to  the  end  of  the  corridor  and  found  himself  confront- 


MR.  ELPHICK'S  CHAMBERS  235 


ing  a  small  board  on  which  was  painted  in  white  letters 
on  a  black  ground,  Mr.  Elphick 's  Chambers. 

Having  satisfied  himself  as  to  his  exact  whereabouts, 
Spargo  drew  back  as  quietly  as  he  had  come.  There  was 
a  window  half-way  along  the  corridor  from  which,  he 
had  noticed  as  he  came  along,  one  could  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  Embankment  and  the  Thames;  to  this  he  with- 
drew, and  leaning  on  the  sill  looked  out  and  considered 
matters.  Should  he  go  and — if  he  could  gain  admittance 
— beard  these  two  conspirators?  Should  he  wait  until 
the  woman  came  out  and  let  her  see  that  he  was  on  the 
track?  Should  he  hide  again  until  she  went,  and  then 
see  Elphick  alone? 

In  the  end  Spargo  did  none  of  these  things  immedi- 
ately. He  let  things  slide  for  the  moment.  He  lighted 
a  cigarette  and  stared  at  the  river  and  the  brown  sails, 
and  the  buildings  across  on  the  Surrey  side.  Ten  min- 
utes went  by — twenty  minutes — nothing  happened. 
Then,  as  half-past  nine  struck  from  all  the  neighbouring 
clocks,  Spargo  flung  away  a  second  cigarette,  marched 
straight  down  the  corridor  and  knocked  boldly  at  Mr. 
Elphick's  door. 

Greatly  to  Spargo 's  surprise,  the  door  was  opened  be- 
fore there  was  any  necessity  to  knock  again.  And  there, 
calmly  confronting  him,  a  benevolent,  yet  somewhat  dep- 
recating expression  on  his  spectacled-  and  placid  face, 
stood  Mr.  Elphick,  a  smoking  cap  on  his  head,  a  tasseled 
smoking  jacket  over  his  dress  shirt,  and  a  short  pipe  in 
his  hand. 

Spargo  was  taken  aback :  Mr.  Elphick  apparently  was 


236     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


not.  He  held  the  door  well  open,  and  motioned  the 
journalist  to  enter. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Spargo,"  he  said.  "I  was  expecting 
you.    Walk  forward  into  my  sitting-room. " 

Spargo,  much  astonished  at  this  reception,  passed 
through  an  ante-room  into  a  handsomely  furnished 
apartment  full  of  books  and  pictures.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  still  very  little  past  midsummer  there 
was  a  cheery  fire  in  the  grate,  and  on  a  table  set  near  a 
roomy  arm-chair  was  set  such  creature  comforts  as  a 
spirit-case,  a  syphon,  a  tumbler,  and  a  novel — from 
which  things  Spargo  argued  that  Mr.  Elphick  had  been 
taking  his  ease  since  his  dinner.  But  in  another  arm- 
chair on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth  was  the  forbid- 
ding figure  of  Miss  Baylis.  blacker,  gloomier,  more  mys- 
terious than  ever.  She  neither  spoke  nor  moved  when 
Spargo  entered:  she  did  not  even  look  at  him.  And 
Spargo  stood  staring  at  her  until  Mr.  Elphick,  having 
closed  his  doors,  touched  him  on  the  elbow,  and  motioned 
him  courteously  to  a  seat. 

"Yes,  I  was  expecting  you,  Mr.  Spargo/'  he  said,  as 
he  resumed  his  own  chair.  "I  have  been  expecting  you 
at  any  time,  ever  since  you  took  up  your  investigation 
of  the  Marbury  affair,  in  some  of  the  earlier  stages  of 
which  you  saw  me,  you  will  remember,  at  the  mortuary. 
But  since  Miss  Baylis  told  me,  twenty  minutes  ago,  that 
you  had  been  to  her  this  morning  I  felt  sure  that  it 
would  not  be  more  than  a  few  hours  before  you  would 
come  to  me. ' ' 

"Why,  Mr.  Elphick,  should  you  suppose  that  I  should 


J 


MR.  ELFHICK'S  CHAMBERS  237 

come  to  you  at  all  ?  ■ '  asked  Spargo,  now  in  full  posses- 
sion of  his  wits. 

"Because  I  felt  sure  that  you  would  leave  no  stone 
unturned,  no  corner  unexplored/'  replied  Mr.  Elphick, 
"The  curiosity  of  the  modern  pressman  is  insatiable. ' ' 

Spargo  stiffened. 

"I  have  no  curiosity,  Mr.  Elphick,"  he  said.  "I  am 
charged  by  my  paper  to  investigate  the  circumstances 
of  the  death  of  the  man  who  was  found  in  Middle 
Temple  Lane,  and,  if  possible,  to  track  his  murderer, 
and  " 

Mr.  Elphick  laughed  slightly  and  waved  his  hand. 

"My  good  young  gentleman!"  he  said.  "You  exag- 
gerate your  own  importance.  I  don't  approve  of  mod- 
ern journalism  nor  of  its  methods.  In  your  own  case 
you  have  got  hold  of  some  absurd  notion  that  the  man 
John  Marbury  was  in  reality  one  John  Maitland,  once 
of  Market  Milcaster,  and  you  have  been  trying  to 
frighten  Miss  Baylis  here  into  " 

Spargo  suddenly  rose  from  his  chair.  There  was  a  cer- 
tain temper  in  him  which,  when  once  roused,  led  him  to 
straight  hitting,  and  it  was  roused  now.  He  looked  the 
old  barrister  full  in  the  face. 

"Mr.  Elphick,"  he  said,  "you  are  evidently  unaware 
of  all  that  I  know.  So  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do. 
I  will  go  back  to  my  office,  and  I  will  write  down  what 
T  do  know,  and  give  the  true  and  absolute  proofs  of 
what  I  know,  and,  if  you  will  trouble  yourself  to  read 
the  Watchman  tomorrow  morning,  then  you,  too,  will 
know." 


238     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Dear  me — dear  me!"  said  Mr.  Elphick,  banteringly. 
"We  are  so  used  to  ultra-sensational  stories  from  the 
Watchman  that — but  I  am  a  curious  and  inquisitive  old 
man,  my  good  young  sir,  so  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  in 
a  word  what  it  is  you  do  know,  eh  ? ' ' 

Spargo  reflected  for  a  second.  Then  he  bent  forward 
across  the  table  and  looked  the  old  barrister  straight  in 
the  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  will  tell  you  what  I  know 
beyond  doubt.  I  know  that  the  man  murdered  under 
the  name  of  John  Marbury  was,  without  doubt,  John 
Maitland,  of  Market  Milcaster,  and  that  Ronald  Breton 
is  his  son,  whom  you  took  from  that  woman!" 

If  Spargo  had  desired  a  complete  revenge  for  the 
cavalier  fashion  in  which  Mr.  Elphick  had  treated  it  he 
could  not  have  been  afforded  a  more  ample  one  than 
that  offered  to  him  by  the  old  barrister's  reception  of 
this  news.  Mr.  Elphick 's  face  not  only  fell,  but 
changed;  his  expression  of  almost  sneering  contempt 
was  transformed  to  one  clearly  resembling  abject  terror; 
he  dropped  his  pipe,  fell  back  in  his  chair,  recovered 
himself,  gripped  the  chair's  arms,  and  stared  at  Spargo 
as  if  the  young  man  had  suddenly  announced  to  him 
that  in  another  minute  he  must  be  led  to  instant  execu- 
tion. And  Spargo,  quick  to  see  his  advantage,  followed 
it  up. 

"That  is  what  I  know,  Mr.  Elphick,  and  if  I  choose, 
all  the  world  shall  know  it  tomorrow  morning!"  he  said 
firmly.  "Ronald  Breton  is  the  son  of  the  murdered  man, 
and  Ronald  Breton  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  the 
daughter  of  the  man  charged  with  the  murder.    Do  you 


MR.  ELPHICK'S  CHAMBERS  239 


hear  that?  It  is  not  matter  of  suspicion,  or  of  idea,  or 
of  conjecture,  it  is  fact — fact!" 

Mr.  Elphick  slowly  turned  his  face  to  Miss  Baylis. 
He  gasped  out  a  few  words. 

"  You— did— not— tell— me— this ! ' ' 

Then  Spargo,  turning  to  the  woman,  saw  that  she, 
too,  was  white  to  the  lips  and  as  frightened  as  the  man. 

" I— didn't  know!"  she  muttered.  "He  didn't  tell 
me.  He  only  told  me  this  morning  what — what  I've 
told  you." 

Spargo  picked  up  his  hat. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Elphick,"  he  said. 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  door  the  old  barrister 
had  leapt  from  his  chair  and  seized  him  with  trembling 
hands.  Spargo  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He  knew 
then  that  for  some  reason  or  other  he  had  given  Mr. 
Septimus  Elphick  a  thoroughly  bad  fright. 

"Well?"  he  growled. 

"My  dear  young  gentleman!"  implored  Mr.  Elphick. 
"Don't  go !  I'll — I'll  do  anything  for  you  if  you  won't 
go  away  to  print  that.  I'll — I'll  give  you  a  thousand 
pounds!" 

Spargo  shook  him  off. 

"That's  enough!"  he  snarled.    "Now,  I  am  off! 
What,  you 'd  try  to  bribe  me?" 
Mr.  Elphick  wrung  his  hands. 

"I  didn't  mean  that — indeed  I  didn't!"  he  almost 
wailed.  "I — I  don't  know  what  I  meant.  Stay,  young 
gentleman,  stay  a  little,  and  let  us — let  us  talk.  Let  me 
have  a  word  with  you — as  many  words  as  you  please. 
I  implore  you ! ' ' 


240     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

Spargo  made  a  fine  pretence  of  hesitation. 

"If  I  stay,"  he  said,  at  last,  "it  will  only  be  on  the 
strict  condition  that  you  answer — and  answer  truly — 
whatever  questions  I  like  to  ask  you.    Otherwise  " 

He  made  another  move  to  the  door,  and  again  Mr. 
Elphick  laid  beseeching  hands  on  him. 

"Stay!"  he  said.    "I'll  answer  anything  you  like!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHT 


OF  PROVED  IDENTITY 

Spargo  sat  down  again  in  the  chair  which  he  had  just 
left,  and  looked  at  the  two  people  upon  whom  his  start- 
ling announcement  had  produced  such  a  curious  effect. 
And  he  recognized  as  he  looked  at  them  that,  while  they 
were  both  frightened,  they  were  frightened  in  different 
ways.  Miss  Baylis  had  already  recovered  her  compos- 
ure; she  now  sat  sombre  and  stern  as  ever,  returning 
Spargo 's  look  with  something  of  indifferent  defiance;  he 
thought  he  could  see  that  in  her  mind  a  certain  fear  was 
battling  with  a  certain  amount  of  wonder  that  he  had 
discovered  the  secret.  It  seemed  to  him  that  so  far  as 
she  was  concerned  the  secret  had  come  to  an  end ;  it  was 
as  if  she  said  in  so  many  words  that  now  the  secret  was 
out  he  might  do  his  worst. 

But  upon  Mr.  Septimus  Elphick  the  effect  was  very 
different.  He  was  still  trembling  from  excitement;  he 
groaned  as  he  sank  into  his  chair  and  the  hand  with 
which  he  poured  out  a  glass  of  spirits  shook;  the  glass 
rattled  against  his  teeth  when  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
The  half-contemptuous  fashion  of  his  reception  of  Spargo 
had  now  wholly  disappeared ;  he  was  a  man  who  had  re- 
ceived a  shock,  and  a  bad  one.  And  Spargo,  watching 
him  keenly,  said  to  himself:  This  man  knows  a  great 
deal  more  than,  a  great  deal  beyond,  the  mere  fact  that 

241 


242     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Marbury  was  Maitland,  and  that  Ronald  Breton  is  in 
reality  Maitland's  son;  he  knows  something  which  he 
never  wanted  anybody  to  know,  which  he  firmly  believed 
it  impossible  anybody  ever  could  know.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  buried  something  deep,  deep  down  in  the  lowest 
depths,  and  was  as  astounded  as  he  was  frightened  to 
find  that  it  had  been  at  last  flung  up  to  the  broad  light 
of  day. 

44 1  shall  wait/'  suddenly  said  Spargo,  " until  you  are 
composed,  Mr.  Elphick.  I  have  no  wish  to  distress  you. 
But  I  see,  of  course,  that  the  truths  which  I  have  told 
you  are  of  a  sort  that  cause  you  considerable — shall  we 
say  fear?" 

Elphick  took  another  stiff  pull  at  his  liquor.  His 
hand  had  grown  steadier,  and  the  colour  was  coming 
back  to  his  face. 

"If  you  will  let  me  explain,"  he  said.  "If  you  will 
hear  what  was  done  for  the  boy's  sake — eh?" 

"That,"  answered  Spargo,  "is  precisely  what  I  wish. 
I  can  tell  you  this — I  am  the  last  man  in  the  world  to 
wish  harm  of  any  sort  to  Mr.  Breton." 

Miss  Baylis  relieved  her  feelings  with  a  scornful  sniff. 

"He  says  that!"  she  exclaimed,  addressing  the  ceiling. 
"He  says  that,  knowing  that  he  means  to  tell  the  world 
in  his  rag  of  a  paper  that  Ronald  Breton,  on  whom  every 
care  has  been  lavished,  is  the  son  of  a  scoundrel,  an 
ex-convict,  a  99 

Elphick  lifted  his  hand. 

"Hush — hush!"  he  said  imploringly.  "Mr.  Spargo 
means  well,  I  am  sure — I  am  convinced.  If  Mr.  Spargo 
-will  hear  me  99 


OF  PROVED  IDENTITY 


243 


But  before  Spargo  could  reply,  a  loud  insistent  knock- 
ing came  at  the  outer  door.  Elphick  started  nervously, 
but  presently  he  moved  across  the  room,  walking  as  if 
he  had  received  a  blow,  and  opened  the  door.  A  boy's 
voice  penetrated  into  the  sitting-room. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  is  Mr.  Spargo,  of  the  Watchman, 
here?    He  left  this  address  in  case  he  was  wanted. " 

Spargo  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of  one  of  the  office 
messenger  boys,  and  jumping  up,  went  to  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  Rawlins?"  he  asked. 

"Will  you  please  come  back  to  the  office,  sir,  at  once? 
There's  Mr.  Rathbury  there  and  says  he  must  see  you 
instantly. ' ' 

"All  right/'  answered  Spargo.  "I'm  coming  just 
now." 

He  motioned  the  lad  away,  and  turned  to  Elphick. 

' 1 1  shall  have  to  go, ' '  he  said.  6  6 1  may  be  kept.  Now, 
Mr.  Elphick,  can  I  come  to  see  you  tomorrow  morning?" 

"Yes,  yes,  tomorrow  morning!"  replied  Elphick 
eagerly.  "Tomorrow  morning,  certainly.  At  eleven — 
eleven  o'clock.    That  will  do?" 

"I  shall  be  here  at  eleven,"  said  Spargo.  "Eleven 
sharp." 

He  was  moving  away  when  Elphick  caught  him  by 
the  sleeve. 

"A  word — just  a  word!"  he  said.  "You — you  have 
not  told  the — the  boy — Ronald — of  what  you  know? 
You  haven't?" 

"I  haven't,"  replied  Spargo. 

Elphick  tightened  his  grip  on  Spargo 's  sleeve.  He 
looked  into  his  face  beseechingly. 


244     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Promise  me — promise  me,  Mr.  Spargo,  that  you  won't 
tell  him  until  you  have  seen  me  in  the  morning !"  he  im- 
plored.   "I  beg  you  to  promise  me  this." 

Spargo  hesitated,  considering  matters. 

"Very  well — I  promise,"  he  said. 

"And  you  won't  print  it!"  continued  Elphick,  still 
clinging  to  him.    "Say  you  won't  print  it  tonight?" 

"I  shall  not  print  it  tonight,"  answered  Spargo. 
"That's  certain." 

Elphick  released  his  grip  on  the  young  man's  arm. 

"Come — at  eleven  tomorrow  morning,"  he  said,  and 
drew  back  and  closed  the  door. 

Spargo  ran  quickly  to  the  office  and  hurried  up  to 
his  own  room.  And  there,  calmly  seated  in  an  easy- 
chair,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  reading  an  evening  news- 
paper, was  Rathbury,  unconcerned  and  outwardly  as  im- 
perturbable as  ever.  He  greeted  Spargo  with  a  careless 
nod  and  a  smile. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "how's  things?" 

Spargo,  half-breathless,  dropped  into  his  desk-chair. 

"You  didn't  come  here  to  tell  me  that,"  he  said. 

Rathbury  laughed. 

"No,"  he  said,  throwing  the  newspaper  aside,  "I 
didn't.  I  came  to  tell  you  my  latest.  You're  at  full 
liberty  to  stick  it  into  your  paper  tonight:  it  may  just 
as  well  be  known." 

"Well?"  said  Spargo. 

Rathbury  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  lips  and  yawned* 
"Aylmore's  identified,"  he  said  lazily. 
Spargo  sat  up,  sharply. 


OF  PROVED  IDENTITY 


245 


"Identified!" 

"Identified,  my  son.    Beyond  doubt." 

"But  as  whom — as  what?"  exclaimed  Spargo. 

Rathbury  laughed. 

"He's  an  old  lag — an  ex-convict.  Served  his  time 
partly  at  Dartmoor.  That,  of  course,  is  where  he  met 
Maitland  or  Marbury.  D'ye  see?  Clear  as  noontide 
now,  Spargo." 

Spargo  sat  drumming  his  fingers  on  the  desk  before 
him.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  map  of  London  that  hung 
on  the  opposite  wall;  his  ears  heard  the  throbbing  of 
the  printing-machines  far  below.  But  what  he  really 
saw  was  the  faces  of  the  two  girls ;  what  he  really  heard 
was  the  voices  of  two  girls  .  .  . 

"Clear  as  noontide — as  noontide,"  repeated  Rathbury 
with  great  cheerfulness. 

Spargo  came  back  to  the  earth  of  plain  and  brutal 
fact. 

"What's  clear  as  noontide?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"What?  Why,  the  whole  thing!  Motive — every- 
thing," answered  Rathbury.  "Don't  you  see,  Maitland 
and  Aylmore  (his  real  name  is  Ainsworth,  by  the  by) 
meet  at  Dartmoor,  probably,  or,  rather,  certainly,  just 
before  Aylmore 's  release.  Aylmore  goes  abroad,  makes 
money,  in  time  comes  back,  starts  new  career,  gets  into 
Parliament,  becomes  big  man.  In  time,  Maitland,  who, 
after  his  time,  has  also  gone  abroad,  also  comes  back* 
The  two  meet.  Maitland  probably  tries  to  blackmail 
Aylmore  or  threatens  to  let  folk  know  that  the  flourish- 
ing Mr.  Aylmore,  M.P.,  is  an  ex-convict.  Result — Ayl- 


248     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


more  lures  him  to  the  Temple  and  quiets  him.  Pooh! 
— the  whole  thing's  clear  as  noontide,  as  I  say.  As — 
noontide ! ' ' 

Spargo  drummed  his  fingers  again. 

"How?"  he  asked  quietly.  "How  came  Aylmore  to 
be  identified?" 

"My  work,"  said  Rathbury  proudly.  "My  work,  my 
son.  You  see,  I  thought  a  lot.  And  especially  after 
we'd  found  out  that  Marbury  was  Maitland." 

"You  mean  after  I'd  found  out,"  remarked  Spargo. 

Rathbury  waved  his  cigar. 

"Well,  well,  it's  all  the  same,"  he  said.  "You  help 
me,  and  I  help  you,  eh  ?  Well,  as  I  say,  I  thought  a  con- 
siderable lot.  I  thought — now,  where  did  Maitland,  or 
Marbury,  know  or  meet  Aylmore  twenty  or  twenty-two 
years  ago  ?  Not  in  London,  because  we  knew  Maitland 
never  was  in  London — at  any  rate,  before  his  trial,  and 
we  haven't  the  least  proof  that  he  was  in  London  after. 
And  why  won't  Aylmore  tell?  Clearly  because  it  must 
have  been  in  some  undesirable  place.  And  then,  all  of 
a  sudden,  it  flashed  on  me  in  a  moment  of — what  do  you 
writing  fellows  call  those  moments,  Spargo  ? ' ' 

"Inspiration,  I  should  think,"  said  Spargo.  "Direct 
inspiration." 

"That's  it.  In  a  moment  of  direct  inspiration,  it 
flashed  on  me — why,  twenty  years  ago,  Maitland  was  in 
Dartmoor — they  must  have  met  there !  And  so,  we  got 
some  old  warders  who  'd  been  there  at  that  time  to  come 
to  town,  and  we  gave  'em  opportunities  to  see  Aylmore 
and  to  study  him.  Of  course,  he's  twenty  years  older, 
and  he's  grown  a  beard,  but  they  began  to  recall  him, 


OF  PROVED  IDENTITY 


247 


and  then  one  man  remembered  that  if  he  was  the  man 
they  thought  he'd  a  certain  birth-mark.  And — he 
has!" 

"Does  Aylmore  know  that  he's  been  identified V 
asked  Spargo. 

Rathbury  pitched  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace  and 
laughed. 

"Know!"  he  said  scornfully.  "Know?  He's  ad- 
mitted it.  What  was  the  use  of  standing  out  against 
proof  like  that.  He  admitted  it  tonight  in  my  presence. 
Oh,  he  knows  all  right ! ' ' 

"And  what  did  he  say?" 

Rathbury  laughed  contemptuously. 

"Say?  Oh,  not  much.  Pretty  much  what  he  said 
about  this  affair — that  when  he  was  convicted  the  time 
before  he  was  an  innocent  man.  He's  certainly  a  good 
hand  at  playing  the  innocent  game." 

"And  of  what  was  he  convicted?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  we  know  all  about  it — now.  As  soon 
as  we  found  out  who  he  really  was,  we  had  all  the  par- 
ticulars turned  up.  Aylmore,  or  Ainsworth  (Stephen 
Ainsworth  his  name  really  is)  was  a  man  who  ran  a  sort 
of  what  they  call  a  Mutual  Benefit  Society  in  a  town 
right  away  up  in  the  North — Cloudhampton— some 
thirty  years  ago.  He  was  nominally  secretary,  but  it 
was  really  his  own  affair.  It  was  patronized  by  the 
working  classes — Cloudhampton 's  a  purely  artisan  popu- 
lation— and  they  stuck  a  lot  of  their  brass,  as  they  call 
it,  in  it.  Then  suddenly  it  came  to  smash,  and  there  was 
nothing.  He — Ainsworth,  or  Aylmore — pleaded  that  he 
was  robbed  and  duped  by  another  man,  but  the  court 


248     [THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

didn't  believe  him,  and  he  got  seven  years.  Plain  story 
you  see,  Spargo,  when  it  all  comes  out,  eh  ? ' ' 

"All  stories  are  quite  plain — when  they  come  out," 
observed  Spargo.  "And  he  kept  silence  now,  I  suppose, 
because  he  didn't  want  his  daughters  to  know  about  his 
past?" 

"Just  so,"  agreed  Rathbury.  "And  I  don't  know 
that  I  blame  him.  He  thought,  of  course,  that  he'd  go 
s<3ot-free  over  this  Marbury  affair.  But  he  made  his  mis- 
take in  the  initial  stages,  my  boy — oh,  yes!" 

Spargo  got  up  from  his  desk  and  walked  around  his 
room  for  a  few  minutes,  Rathbury  meanwhile  finding 
and  lighting  another  cigar.  At  last  Spargo  came  back 
and  clapped  a  hand  on  the  detective's  shoulder. 

"Look  here,  Rathbury!"  he  said.  "It's  very  evident 
that  you're  now  going  on  the  lines  that  Aylmore  did 
murder  Marbury.  Eh?" 

Rathbury  looked  up.    His  face  showed  astonishment. 

"After  evidence  like  that!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why, 
of  course.    There's  the  motive,  my  son,  the  motive!" 

Spargo  laughed. 

"Rathbury!"  he  said.  "Aylmore  no  more  murdered 
Marbury  than  you  did ! " 

The  detective  got  up  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  said.    ' '  Perhaps  you  know  who  did,  then  ? ' ' 

"I  shall  know  in  a  few  days,"  answered  Spargo. 

Rathbury  stared  wonderingly  at  him.  Then  he  sud- 
denly walked  to  the  door.  "Good-night!"  he  said 
gruffly. 

"Good-night,  Rathbury,"  replied  Spargo  and  sat 
down  at  his  desk. 


OF  PROVED  IDENTITY  249 


But  that  night  Spargo  wrote  nothing  for  the  Watch- 
man. All  he  wrote  was  a  short  telegram  addressed  to 
Aylmore's  daughters.  There  were  only  three  words  on 
it — Have  no  fear. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE 


THE  CLOSED  DOORS 

Alone  of  all  the  London  morning  newspapers,  the 
Watchman  appeared  next  day  destitute  of  sensational- 
ism in  respect  to  the  Middle  Temple  Murder.  The  other 
daily  journals  published  more  or  less  vivid  accounts  of 
the  identification  of  Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore,  M.P.  for  the 
Brookminster  Division,  as  the  ci-devant  Stephen  Ains- 
worth,  ex-convict,  once  upon  a  time  founder  and  secre- 
tary of  the  Hearth  and  Home  Mutual  Benefit  Society, 
the  headquarters  of  which  had  been  at  Cloudhampton, 
in  Daleshire;  the  fall  of  which  had  involved  thousands 
of  honest  working  folk  in  terrible  distress  if  not  in  ab- 
solute ruin.  Most  of  them  had  raked  up  Ainsworth's 
past  to  considerable  journalistic  purpose:  it  had  been 
an  easy  matter  to  turn  up  old  files,  to  recount  the  fall  of 
the  Hearth  and  Home,  to  tell  anew  the  story  of  the  pri- 
vations of  the  humble  investors  whose  small  hoards  had 
gone  in  the  crash;  it  had  been  easy,  too,  to  set  out  again 
the  history  of  Ainsworth's  arrest,  trial,  and  fate.  There 
was  plenty  of  romance  in  the  story :  it  was  that  of  a  man 
who  by  his  financial  ability  had  built  up  a  great  indus* 
trial  insurance  society;  had — as  was  alleged — converted 
the  large  sums  entrusted  to  him  to  his  own  purposes ;  had 

250 


THE  CLOSED  DOORS  251 


been  detected  and  punished;  had  disappeared,  after  his 
punishment,  so  effectually  that  no  one  knew  where  he 
had  gone;  had  come  back,  comparatively  a  few  years 
later,  under  another  name,  a  very  rich  man,  and  had 
entered  Parliament  and  been,  in  a  modest  way,  a  public 
character  without  any  of  those  who  knew  him  in  his 
new  career  suspecting  that  he  had  once  worn  a  dress 
liberally  ornamented  with  the  broad  arrow.  Fine  copy, 
excellent  copy:  some  of  the  morning  newspapers  made 
a  couple  of  columns  of  it. 

But  the  Watchman,  up  to  then  easily  ahead  of  all  its 
contemporaries  in  keeping  the  public  informed  of  all 
the  latest  news  in  connection  with  the  Marbury  affair, 
contented  itself  with  a  brief  announcement.  For  after 
Eathbury  had  left  him,  Spargo  had  sought  his  pro- 
prietor and  his  editor,  and  had  sat  long  in  consultation 
with  them,  and  the  result  of  their  talk  had  been  that 
all  the  Watchman  thought  fit  to  tell  its  readers  next 
morning  was  contained  in  a  curt  paragraph : 

"We  understand  that  Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore,  M.P., 
who  is  charged  with  the  murder  of  John  Marbury,  or 
Maitland,  in  the  Temple  on  June  21st  last,  was  yester- 
day afternoon  identified  by  certain  officials  as  Stephen 
Ainsworth,  who  was  sentenced  to  a  term  of  penal  servi- 
tude in  connection  with  the  Hearth  and  Home  Mutual 
Benefit  Society  funds  nearly  thirty  years  ago." 
Coming  down  to  Fleet  Street  that  morning,  Spargo, 
strolling  jauntily  along  the  front  of  the  Law  Courts,  en- 
countered a  fellow-journalist,  a  man  on  an  opposition 
newspaper,  who  grinned  at  him  in  a  fashion  which  in- 
dicated derision. 


252     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"Left  behind  a  bit,  that  rag  of  yours,  this  morning, 
Spargo,  my  boy!"  he  remarked  elegantly.  "Why, 
you  Ve  missed  one  of  the  finest  opportunities  I  ever  heard 
of  in  connection  with  that  Aylmore  affair.  A  miser- 
able paragraph ! — why,  I  worked  off  a  column  and  a  half 
in  ours !    What  were  you  doing  last  night,  old  man  ? ' ' 

"Sleeping,"  said  Spargo  and  went  by  with  a  nod. 
"Sleeping!" 

He  left  the  other  staring  at  him,  and  crossed  the  road 
to  Middle  Temple  Lane.  It  was  just  on  the  stroke  of 
eleven  as  he  walked  up  the  stairs  to  Mr.  Elphick 's  cham- 
bers; precisely  eleven  as  he  knocked  at  the  outer  door. 
It  is  seldom  that  outer  doors  are  closed  in  the  Temple 
at  that  hour,  but  Elphick's  door  was  closed  fast  enough. 
The  night  before  it  had  been  promptly  opened,  but  there 
was  no  response  to  Spargo 's  first  knock,  nor  to  his  sec- 
ond, nor  to  his  third.  And  half-unconsciously  he  mur- 
mured aloud:    "Elphick's  door  is  closed!" 

It  never  occurred  to  Spargo  to  knock  again:  instinct 
told  him  that  Elphick's  door  was  closed  because  Elphick 
was  not  there ;  closed  because  Elphick  was  not  going  to 
keep  the  appointment.  He  turned  and  walked  slowly 
back  along  the  corridor.  And  just  as  he  reached  the 
head  of  the  stairs  Ronald  Breton,  pale  and  anxious, 
came  running  up  them,  and  at  sight  of  Spargo  paused, 
staring  questioningly  at  him.  As  if  with  a  mutual  sym- 
pathy the  two  young  men  shook  hands. 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't  print  more  than  those  two  or 
three  lines  in  the  Watchmcm  this  morning, ' '  said  Breton. 
"It  was — considerate.  As  for  the  other  papers! — Ayl- 
more assured  me  last  night,  Spargo,  that  though  he  did 


THE  CLOSED  DOORS  253 


serve  that  term  at  Dartmoor  he  was  innocent  enough! 

He  was  scapegoat  for  another  man  who  disappeared/ 9 
Then,  as  Spargo  merely  nodded,  he  added,  awkwardly : 
4 4 And  I'm  obliged  to  you,  too,  old  chap,  for  sending 

that  wire  to  the  two  girls  last  night — it  was  good  of  you. 

They  want  all  the  comfort  they  can  get,  poor  things! 

But — what  are  you  doing  here,  Spargo  ? ' ' 

Spargo  leant  against  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  folded 

his  hands. 

"I  came  here,"  he  said,  "to  keep  an  appointment  with 
Mr.  Elphick — an  appointment  which  he  made  when  I 
called  on  him,  as  you  suggested,  at  nine  o'clock.  The 
appointment — a  most  important  one — was  for  eleven 
o'clock." 

Breton  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"Come  on,  then,"  he  said.  "It's  well  past  that  now, 
and  my  guardian's  a  very  martinet  in  the  matter  of 
punctuality. ' ' 

But  Spargo  did  not  move.  Instead,  he  shook  his  head, 
regarding  Breton  with  troubled  eyes. 

"So  am  I,"  he  answered.  "I  was  trained  to  it. 
Your  guardian  isn't  there,  Breton." 

"Not  there?  If  he  made  an  appointment  for  eleven? 
Nonsense — I  never  knew  him  miss  an  appointment!" 

"I  knocked  three  times — three  separate  times,"  an- 
swered Spargo. 

"You  should  have  knocked  half  a  dozen  times — he 
may  have  overslept  himself.  He  sits  up  late — he  and 
old  Cardlestone  often  sit  up  half  the  night,  talking 
stamps  or  playing  piquet,"  said  Breton.  "Come  on — 
you  11  see ! " 


254      THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Spargo  shook  his  head  again. 

"He's  not  there.  Breton,"  he  said.    1 'He's  gone!'5 
Breton  stared  at  the  journalist  as  if  he  had  just  an- 
nounced that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Septimus  Elphick  riding 
down  Fleet  Street  on  a  dromedary.    He  seized  Spargo  's 
elbow. 

''Come  on !"  he  said.  "I  have  a  key  to  Mr.  Elphick 's 
door,  so  that  I  can  go  in  and  out  as  I  like.  I'll  soon 
show  you  whether  he's  gone  or  not." 

Spargo  followed  the  young  barrister  down  the  cor- 
ridor. 

"AD  the  same,*'  he  said  meditatively  as  Breton  fitted 
a  key  to  the  latch,  ''he's  not  there,  Breton.  He's — 
off!" 

''Good  heavens,  man,  I  don't  know  what  you're  talk- 
ing about!''  exclaimed  Breton,  opening  the  door  and 
walking  into  the  lobby.  "Off!  TVhere  on  earth  should 
he  be  off  to.  when  he's  made  an  appointment  with  you 
for  eleven,  and — Hullo!'' 

He  had  opened  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Spargo 
had  met  Elphick  and  Miss  Baylis  the  night  before,  and 
was  walking  in  when  he  pulled  himself  up  on  the 
threshold  with  a  sharp  exclamation. 

"Good  God!'-'  he  cried.    "What— what's  all  this?" 

Spargo  quietly  looked  over  Breton's  shoulder.  It 
needed  but  one  quick  glance  to  show  him  that  much  had 
happened  in  that  quiet  room  since  he  had  quitted  it  the 
night  before.  There  stood  the  easy-chair  in  which  he 
had  left  Elphick:  there,  close  by  it.  but  pushed  aside, 
as  if  by  a  hurried  hand,  was  the  little  table  with  its 


THE  CLOSED  DOORS  255 


spirit  ease,  its  syphon,  its  glass,  in  which  stale  liquid 
still  stood ;  there  was  the  novel,  turned  face  downwards ; 
there,  upon  the  novel,  was  Elphick's  pipe.  But  the  rest 
of  the  room  was  in  dire  confusion.  The  drawers  of  a 
bureau  had  been  pulled  open  and  never  put  back ;  papers 
of  all  descriptions,  old  legal-looking  documents,  old  let- 
ters, littered  the  centre-table  and  the  floor ;  in  one  corner 
of  the  room  a  black  japanned  box  had  been  opened,  its 
contents  strewn  about,  and  the  lid  left  yawning.  And 
in  the  grate,  and  all  over  the  fender  there  were  masses 
of  burned  and  charred  paper;  it  was  only  too  evident 
that  the  occupant  of  the  chambers,  wherever  he  mi^ht 
have  disappeared  to,  had  spent  some  time  before  his  dis- 
appearance in  destroying  a  considerable  heap  of  docu- 
ments and  papers,  and  in  such  haste  that  he  had  not 
troubled  to  put  matters  straight  before  he  went. 

Breton  stared  at  this  scene  for  a  moment  in  utter  con- 
sternation. Then  he  made  one  step  towards  an  inner 
door,  and  Spargo  followed  him.  Together  they  entered 
an  inner  room — a  sleeping  apartment.  There  was  no 
one  in  it,  but  there  were  evidences  that  Elphick  had  just 
as  hastily  packed  a  bag  as  he  had  destroyed  his  papers. 
The  clothes  which  Spargo  had  seen  him  wearing  the 
previous  evening  were  flung  here,  there,  everywhere; 
the  gorgeous  smoking- jacket  was  tossed  unceremoniously 
in  one  corner,  a  dress-shirt,  in  the  bosom  of  which  valu- 
able studs  still  glistened,  in  another.  One  or  two  suit- 
cases lay  about,  as  if  they  had  been  examined  and  dis- 
carded in  favour  of  something  more  portable ;  here,  too, 
drawers,  revealing  stocks  of  linen  and  underclothing, 


256     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


had  been  torn  open  and  left  open;  open,  too,  swung  the 
door  of  a  wardrobe,  revealing  a  quantity  of  expensive 
clothing.  And  Spargo,  looking  around  him,  seemed  to 
see  all  that  had  happened — the  hasty,  almost  frantic 
search  for  and  tearing  up  and  burning  of  papers;  the 
hurried  change  of  clothing,  of  packing  necessaries  into 
a  bag  that  could  be  carried,  and  then  the  flight  the  get- 
ting away,  the  

"What  on  earth  does  all  this  mean?"  exclaimed 
Breton.    1 '  What  is  it,  Spargo  ? ' ' 

"I  mean  exactly  what  I  told  you,"  answered  Spargo. 
"Fo'soff!  Off!" 

"Off!  But  why  off?  What— my  guardian!— as 
quiet  an  old  gentleman  as  there  is  in  the  Temple — off!" 
cried  Breton.  "For  what  reason,  eh?  It  isn't — good 
God,  Spargo,  it  isn't  because  of  anything  you  said  to 
him  last  night!" 

"I  should  say  it  is  precisely  because  of  something  that 
I  said  to  him  last  night,"  replied  Spargo.  "I  was  a  fool 
ever  to  let  him  out  of  my  sight. ' ' 

Breton  turned  on  his  companion  and  gasped. 

' 4  Out — of — your — sight ! "  he  exclaimed.  6 '  Why — 
wjiy — you  don't  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Elphick  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  this  Marbury  affair  ?  For  God 's  sake, 
Spargo  " 

Spargo  laid  a  hand  on  the  young  barrister's  shoulder. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  hear  a  good  deal,  Breton," 
he  said.  "I  was  going  to  talk  to  you  today  in  any  case. 
Tou  see  " 

Before  Spargo  could  say  more  a  woman,  bearing  the 
implements  which  denote  the  charwoman's  profession. 


THE  CLOSED  DOORS  257 


entered  the  room  and  immediately  cried  out  at  what  she 
saw.    Breton  turned  on  her  almost  savagely. 

"Here,  you!"  he  said.  "Have  you  seen  anything  o£ 
Mr.  Elphiek  this  morning ?" 

The  charwoman  rolled  her  eyes  and  lifted  her  hands. 

"Me,  sir!  Not  a  sign  of  him,  sir.  "Which  I  never 
comes  here  much  before  half-past  eleven,  sir,  Mr.  El- 
phiek being  then  gone  out  to  his  breakfast.  I  see  him 
yesterday  morning,  sir,  which  he  was  then  in  his  usual 
state  of  good  health,  sir,  if  anything 's  the  matter  with 
him  now.    No,  sir,  I  ain't  seen  nothing  of  him." 

Breton  let  out  another  exclamation  of  impatience. 

"You'd  better  leave  all  this,"  he  said.  "Mr.  El- 
phiek ?s  evidently  gone  away  in  a  hurry,  and  you  mustn't 
touch  anything  here  until  he  comes  back.  I'm  going 
to  lock  up  the  chambers:  if  you've  a  key  of  them  give  it 
to  me." 

The  charwoman  handed  over  a  key,  gave  another 
astonished  look  at  the  rooms,  and  vanished,  muttering, 
and  Breton  turned  to  Spargo. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  demanded.  "I  must  hear — 
a  good  deal!  Out  with  it,  then,  man,  for  Heaven's 
sake. ' ' 

But  Spargo  shook  his  head. 

"Not  now,  Breton,"  he  answered.  "Presently,  I  tell 
you,  for  Miss  Aylmore's  sake,  and  your  own,  the  first 
thing  to  do  is  to  get  on  your  guardian 's  track.  We  must 
— must,  I  say!— and  at  once." 

Breton  stood  staring  at  Spargo  for  a  moment  as  if  he 
could  not  credit  his  own  senses.  Then  he  suddenly  mo- 
tioned Spargo  out  of  the  room. 


258     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

' 1  Come  on ! 9  9  he  said.  1 1  I  know  who  '11  know  where  he 
is,  if  anybody  does.' 7 

"Who,  then?"  asked  Spargo,  as  they  hurried  out. 

"Cardlestone,"  answered  Breton,  grimly.  "Cardie- 
stone  V9 


CHAPTER  THIRTY 


REVELATION 

There  was  as  much  bright  sunshine  that  morning  in 
Middle  Temple  Lane  as  ever  manages  to  get  into  it,  and 
some  of  it  was  shining  in  the  entry  into  which  Spargo 
and  Breton  presently  hurried.  Full  of  haste  as  he  was 
Breton  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stair.  He  looked  down 
at  the  floor  and  at  the  wall  at  its  side. 

"Wasn't  it  there?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  pointing 
at  the  place  he  looked  at.  "Wasn't  it  there,  Spargo, 
just  there,  that  Marbury,  or,  rather,  Maitland,  was 
found?" 

"It  was  just  there,"  answered  Spargo. 

"You  saw  him?" 

"I  saw  him." 

' '  Soon — afterwards  ? ' ' 

"Immediately  after  he  was  found.  You  know  all 
that,  Breton.    Why  do  you  ask  now?" 

Breton,  who  was  still  staring  at  the  place  on  which  he 
had  fixed  his  eyes  on  walking  into  the  entry,  shook  his 
head. 

"Don't  know,"  he  answered.  "I — but  come  on — 
let's  see  if  old  Cardlestone  can  tell  us  anything." 

There  was  another  charwoman,  armed  with  pails  and 
buckets,  outside  Cardlestone 's  door,  into  which  she  was 
just  fitting  a  key.    It  was  evident  to  Spargo  that  she 

259 


260     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


knew  Breton,  for  she  smiled  at  him  as  she  opened  the 
door. 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Cardlestone  11  be  in,  sir,"  she 
said.  "He's  generally  gone  out  to  breakfast  at  this  time 
— him  and  Mr.  Elphick  goes  together." 

"Just  see,"  said  Breton.  "I  want  to  see  him  if  he 
is  in."  The  charwoman  entered  the  chambers  and  im- 
mediately screamed. 

1 1  Quite  so,"  remarked  Spargo.  "That's  what  I  ex- 
pected to  hear.  Cardlestone,  you  see,  Breton,  is  also — 
off!" 

Breton  made  no  reply.  He  rushed  after  the  char- 
woman, with  Spargo  in  close  attendance. 

"Good  God — another!"  groaned  Breton. 

If  the  confusion  in  Elphick 's  rooms  had  been  bad, 
that  in  Cardlestone 's  chambers  was  worse.  Here  again 
all  the  features  of  the  previous  scene  were  repeated — 
'drawers  had  been  torn  open,  papers  thrown  about;  the 
hearth  was  choked  with  light  ashes;  everything  was  at 
jsixes  and  sevens.  An  open  door  leading  into  an  inner 
room  showed  that  Cardlestone,  like  Elphick,  had  hastily 
packed  a  bag ;  like  Elphick  had  changed  his  clothes,  and 
had  thrown  his  discarded  garments  anywhere,  into  any 
corner.  Spargo  began  to  realize  what  had  taken  place 
— Elphick,  having  made  his  own  preparations  for  flight, 
had  come  to  Cardlestone,  and  had  expedited  him,  and 
they  had  fled  together.    But — why? 

The  charwoman  sat  down  in  the  nearest  chair  and  be- 
gan to  moan  and  sob ;  Breton  strode  forward,  across  the 
heaps  of  papers  and  miscellaneous  objects  tossed  aside 
in  that  hurried  search  and  clearing  up,  into  the  inner 


REVELATION 


261 


room.  And  Spargo,  looking  about  him,  suddenly  caught 
sight  of  something  lying  on  the  floor  at  which  he  made  a 
sharp  clutch.  He  had  just  secured  it  and  hurried  it  into 
his  pocket  when  Breton  came  back. 

"I  don't  know  what  all  this  means,  Spargo,"  he  said, 
almost  wearily.  "I  suppose  you  do.  Look  here,"  he 
went  on,  turning  to  the  charwoman,  "stop  that  row — 
that'll  do  no  good,  you  know.  I  suppose  Mr.  Cardie- 
stone's  gone  away  in  a  hurry.  You'd  better — what  had 
she  better  do,  Spargo?" 

"Leave  things  exactly  as  they  are,  lock  up  the  cham- 
bers, and  as  you're  a  friend  of  Mr.  Cardlestone's  give 
you  the  key,"  answered  Spargo,  with  a  significant  glance. 
"Do  that,  now,  and  let's  go — I've  something  to  do." 

Once  outside,  with  the  startled  charwoman  gone  away, 
Spargo  turned  to  Breton. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  I  know,  presently,  Breton,"  he  said. 
"In  the  meantime,  I  want  to  find  out  if  the  lodge  porter 
saw  Mr.  Elphick  or  Mr.  Cardlestone  leave.  I  must  know 
where  they've  gone — if  I  can  only  find  out  I  don't 
suppose  they  went  on  foot." 

"All  right,"  responded  Breton,  gloomily.  "We'll  go 
and  ask  But  this  is  all  beyond  me.  You  don't  mean 
to  say  " 

"Wait  a  while,"  answered  Spargo.  "One  thing  at 
once,"  he  continued,  as  they  walked  up  Middle  Temple 
Lane.  "This  is  the  first  thing.  You  ask  the  porter  if 
he's  seen  anything  of  either  of  them — he  knows  you." 

The  porter,  duly  interrogated,  responded  with  alacrity. 

"Anything  of  Mr.  Elphick  this  morning,  Mr.  Breton  ?" 
he  answered.    "Certainly,  sir.   I  got  a  taxi  for  Mr. 


262     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Elphick  and  Mr.  Cardlestone  early  this  morning — soon 
after  seven.  Mr.  Elphick  said  they  were  going  to  Paris, 
and  they'd  breakfast  at  Charing  Cross  before  the  train 


"Say  when  they'd  be  back?"  asked  Breton,  with  an 
assumption  of  entire  carelessness. 

"No,  sir,  Mr.  Elphick  didn't,"  answered  the  porter. 
"But  I  should  say  they  wouldn't  be  long  because  they'd 
only  got  small  suit-cases  with  them — such  as  they'd  put 
a  day  or  two's  things  in,  sir." 

"All  right,"  said  Breton.  He  turned  away  towards 
Spargo  who  had  already  moved  off.  "What  next?"  he 
asked.    "Charing  Cross,  I  suppose?" 

Spargo  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "I've  no  use  for  Charing  Cross. 
They  haven 't  gone  to  Paris.  That  was  all  a  blind.  For 
the  present  let's  go  back  to  your  chambers.  Then  I'll 
talk  to  you." 

Once  within  Breton's  inner  room,  with  the  door  closed 
upon  them,  Spargo  dropped  into  an  easy-chair  and 
looked  at  the  young  barrister  with  earnest  attention. 

"Breton!"  he  said.  "I  believe  we're  coming  in  sight 
of  land.  You  want  to  save  your  prospective  father-in- 
law,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course!"  growled  Breton.  "That  goes  without 
saying.    But  " 

"But  you  may  have  to  make  some  sacrifices  in  order 
to  do  it,"  said  Spargo.    "You  see  " 

"Sacrifices!"  exclaimed  Breton.    "What  " 

"You  may  have  to  sacrifice  some  ideas — you  may  find 


left.' 


REVELATION 


263 


that  you'll  not  be  able  to  think  as  well  of  some  people 
in  the  future  as  you  have  thought  of  them  in  the  past, 
For  instance— Mr.  Elphick." 
Breton's  face  grew  dark. 

"  Speak  plainly,  Spargo!"  he  said.  "It's  best  with 
me." 

' ' Very  well,"  replied  Spargo.    "Mr.  Elphick,  then, 
is  in  some  way  connected  with  this  affair." 
"You  mean  the — murder?" 

"I  mean  the  murder.  So  is  Cardlestone.  Of  that  I'm 
now  dead  certain.  And  that's  why  they're  off.  1 
startled  Elphick  last  night.  It's  evident  that  he  im- 
mediately communicated  with  Cardlestone,  and  that 
they  made  a  rapid  exit  Why?" 

"Why?  That's  what  I'm  asking  you!  Why? 
Why?  Why?" 

"Because  they're  afraid  of  something  coming  out. 
And  being  afraid,  their  first  instinct  is  to— run. 
They've  run  at  the  first  alarm.  Foolish — but  instinc- 
tive." 

Breton,  who  had  flung  himself  into  the  elbow-chair  at 
his  desk,  jumped  to  his  feet  and  thumped  his  blotting- 
pad. 

"Spargo!"  he  exclaimed.  "Are  you  telling  me  that 
you  accuse  my  guardian  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Cardlestone, 
of  being — murderers?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  am  accusing  Mr.  Elphick  and 
Mr.  Cardlestone  of  knowing  more  about  the  murder  than 
they  care  to  tell  or  want  to  tell.  I  am  also  accusing  them, 
and  especially  your  guardian,  of  knowing  all  about 


I 


264     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

Maitland,  alias  Marbury.    I  made  him  confess  last  night 
that  he  knew  this  dead  man  to  be  John  Maitland." 
"You  did!" 

"I  did.  And  now,  Breton,  since  it's  got  to  come  out, 
we'll  have  the  truth.  Pull  yourself  together — get  your 
nerves  ready,  for  you'll  have  to  stand  a  shock  or  two. 
But  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about — I  can  prove  every 
word  I'm  going  to  say  to  you.  And  first  let  me  ask 
you  a  few  questions.  Do  you  know  anything  about  your 
parentage?" 

"Nothing — beyond  what  Mr.  Elphick  has  told  me." 
"And  what  was  that?" 

"That  my  parents  were  old  friends  of  his,  who  died 
young,  leaving  me  unprovided  for,  and  that  he  took  me 
up  and  looked  after  me." 

"And  he's  never  given  you  any  documentary  evidence 
of  any  sort  to  prove  the  truth  of  that  story?" 

" Never!  I  never  questioned  his  statement.  Why 
should  I?" 

"You  never  remember  anything  of  your  childhood — 
I  mean  of  any  person  who  was  particularly  near  you  in 
your  childhood?" 

"I  remember  the  people  who  brought  me  up  from  the 
time  I  was  three  years  old.  And  I  have  just  a  faint, 
shadowy  recollection  of  some  woman,  a  tall,  dark  woman, 
I  think,  before  that." 

"Miss  Baylis,"  said  Spargo  to  himself.  "All  right, 
Breton,"  he  went  on  aloud.  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  the 
truth.  I'll  tell  it  to  you  straight  out  and  give  you  all 
the  explanations  afterwards.  Your  real  name  is  not 
Breton  at  all.   Your  real  name  is  Maitland,  and  you're 


I 


REVELATION  265 

the  only  child  of  the  man  who  was  found  murdered  at  the 
foot  of  Cardlestone 's  staircase  !" 

Spargo  had  been  wondering  how  Breton  would  take 
this,  and  he  gazed  at  him  with  some  anxiety  as  he  got 
out  the  last  words.  What  would  he  do? — what  would 
he  say? — what  

Breton  sat  down  quietly  at  his  desk  and  looked  Spargo 
hard  between  the  eyes. 

"Prove  that  to  me,  Spargo/'  he  said,  in  hard,  mat- 
ter-of-fact tones.  1  Trove  it  to  me,  every  word.  Every 
word,  Spargo !" 

Spargo  nodded. 

"I  will — every  word/'  he  answered.  "It's  the  right 
thing.    Listen,  then." 

It  was  a  quarter  to  twelve,  Spargo  noticed,  throwing  a 
glance  at  the  clock  outside,  as  he  began  his  story ;  it  was 
past  one  when  he  brought  it  to  an  end.  And  all  that 
time  Breton  listened  with  the  keenest  attention,  only 
asking  a  question  now  and  then;  now  and  then  making 
a  brief  note  on  a  sheet  of  paper  which  he  had  drawn  to 
him. 

"That's  all,"  said  Spargo  at  last. 

"It's  plenty,"  observed  Breton  laconically. 

He  sat  staring  at  his  notes  for  a  moment;  then  he 
looked  up  at  Spargo.  "What  do  you  really  think?"  he 
asked. 

"About — what?"  said  Spargo. 

"This  flight  of  Elphick's  and  Cardlestone 's." 

"I  think,  as  I  said,  that  they  knew  something  which 
they  think  may  be  forced  upon  them.  I  never  saw  a 
man  in  a  greater  fright  than  that  I  saw  Elphick  in  last 


266     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

night.  And  it's  evident  that  Cardlestone  shares  in  that 
fright,  or  they  wouldn't  have  gone  off  in  this  way  to- 
gether." 

"Do  you  think  they  know  anything  of  the  actual 
murder  ?" 

Spargo  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know.  Probably.  They  know  something. 
And — look  here!" 

Spargo  put  his  hand  in  his  breast  pocket  and  drew 
something  out  which  he  handed  to  Breton,  who  gazed 
at  it  curiously. 

' 4  What 's  this  J "  he  demanded.    ' '  Stamps  ? 9  7 

"That,  from  the  description  of  Criedir,  the  stamp- 
dealer,  is  a  sheet  of  those  rare  Australian  stamps  which 
Maitland  had  on  him — carried  on  him.  I  picked  it  up 
just  now  in  Cardlestone 's  room,  when  you  were  looking 
into  his  bedroom." 

"But  that,  after  all,  proves  nothing.  Those  mayn't 
be  the  identical  stamps.    And  whether  they  are  or  not 


"What  are  the  probabilities?"  interrupted  Spargo 
sharply.  "I  believe  that  those  are  the  stamps  which 
Maitland — your  father! — had  on  him,  and  I  want  to 
know  how  they  came  to  be  in  Cardlestone 's  rooms.  And 
I  will  know." 

Breton  handed  the  stamps  back. 

"But  the  general  thing,  Spargo?"  he  said.  "If  they 
didn't  murder — I  can't  realize  the  thing  yet! — my 
father  " 

"If  they  didn't  murder  your  father,  they  know  who 
did!"  exclaimed  Spargo.    "Now,  then,  it's  time  for 


REVELATION 


267 


more  action.  Let  Elphick  and  Cardlestone  alone  for 
the  moment — they  11  be  tracked  easily  enough.  I  want 
to  tackle  something  else  for  the  moment.  How  do  yon 
get  an  authority  from  the  Government  to  open  a  grave?" 

"Order  from  the  Home  Secretary,  which  will  have  to 
be  obtained  by  showing  the  very  strongest  reasons  why 
it  should  be  made." 

"Good!  Well  give  the  reasons.  I  want  to  have  a 
grave  opened." 

"A  grave  opened!    Whose  grave?" 

' '  The  grave  of  the  man  Chamberlayne  at  Market  Mil- 
caster,"  replied  Spargo. 

Breton  started. 

"His?    In  Heaven's  name,  why?"  he  demanded. 
Spargo  laughed  as  he  got  up. 

"Because  I  believe  it's  empty,"  he  answered.  "Be- 
cause I  believe  that  Chamberlayne  is  alive,  and.  that  his 
other  name  is — Cardlestone ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-ONE 


THE  PENITENT  ^WINDOW-CLEANER 

That  afternoon  Spargo  had  another  of  his  momentous 
interviews  with  his  proprietor  and  his  editor.  The  first 
result  was  that  all  three  drove  to  the  offices  of  the  legal 
gentleman  who  catered  for  the  Watchman  when  it  wanted 
any  law,  and  that  things  were  put  in  shape  for  an  im- 
mediate application  to  the  Home  Office  for  permission 
to  open  the  Chamberlayne  grave  at  Market  Milcaster; 
the  second  was  that  on  the  following  morning  there  ap- 
peared in  the  Watchman  a  notice  which  set  half  the 
mouths  of  London  a-watering.  That  notice,  penned  by 
Spargo,  ran  as  follows : — 

1  'One  Thousand  Pounds  Reward. 
5<  Whereas,  on  some  date  within  the  past  twelve 
months,  there  was  stolen,  abstracted,  or  taken  from  the 
chambers  in  Fountain  Court,  Temple,  occupied  by 
Mr.  Stephen  Aylmore,  M.P.,  under  the  name  of  Mr. 
Anderson,  a  walking-stick,  or  stout  staff,  of  foreign 
make,  and  of  curious  workmanship,  which  stick  was 
probably  used  in  the  murder  of  John  Marbury,  or 
Maitland,  in  Middle  Temple  Lane,  on  the  night  of 
June  21-22  last,  and  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  po- 
lice: 

"This  is  to  give  notice  that  the  Proprietor  of  the 
Watchman  newspaper  will  pay  the  above-mentioned 
reward  (One  Thousand  Pounds  Sterling)  at  once 
and  in  cash  to  whosoever  will  prove  that  he  or  she 
268 


THE  PENITENT  WINDOW-CLEANER  269 


stole,  abstracted,  or  took  away  the  said  stick  from  the 
said  chambers,  and  will  further  give  full  information 
as  to  his  or  her  disposal  of  the  same,  and  the  Proprietor 
of  the  Watchman  moreover  engages  to  treat  any  reve- 
lation affecting  the  said  stick  in  the  most  strictly 
private  and  confidential  manner,  and  to  abstain  from 
using  it  in  any  way  detrimental  to  the  informant,  who 
should  call  at  the  Watchman  office,  and  ask  for  Mr. 
Frank  Spargo  at  any  time  between  eleven  and  one 
o'clock  midday,  and  seven  and  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
evening. ' ' 

"And  you  really  expect  to  get  some  information 
through  that!"  asked  Breton,  who  came  into  Spargo 's 
room  about  noon  on  the  day  on  which  the  promising  an- 
nouncement came  out.    "You  really  do?" 

"Before  today  is  out,"  said  Spargo  confidently. 
"There  is  more  magic  in  a  thousand-pound  reward  than 
you  fancy,  Breton.  I'll  have  the  history  of  that  stick 
before  midnight." 

"How  are  you  to  tell  that  you  won't  be  imposed 
upon?"  suggested  Breton,  "Anybody  can  say  that  he 
or  she  stole  the  stick." 

i  '  Whoever  comes  here  with  any  tale  of  a  stick  will  have 
to  prove  to  me  how  he  or  she  got  the  stick  and  what  was 
done  with  the  stick,"  said  Spargo.  "I  haven't  the  least 
doubt  that  that  stick  was  stolen  or  taken  away  from 
Aylmore 's  rooms  in  Fountain  Court,  and  that  it  got  into 
the  hands  of  " 

"Yes,  of  whom?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know  in  some  fashion.  I've 


270     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


an  idea,  already.  But  I  can  afford  to  wait  for  definite 
information.  I  know  one  thing — when  I  get  that  in- 
formation— as  I  shall — we  shall  be  a  long  way  on  the 
road  towards  establishing  Aylmore's  innocence." 

Breton  made  no  remark  upon  this.  He  was  looking  at 
Spargo  with  a  meditative  expression. 

"Spargo,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "do  you  think  you'll 
get  that  order  for  the  opening  of  the  grave  at  Market 
Milcaster?" 

"I  was  talking  to  the  solicitors  over  the  'phone  just 
now,"  answered  Spargo.  " They've  every  confidence 
about  it.  In  fact,  it's  possible  it  may  be  made  this  af- 
ternoon. In  that  case,  the  opening  will  be  made  early 
tomorrow  morning." 

"Shall  you  go?"  asked  Breton. 

"Certainly.  And  you  can  go  with  me,  if  you  like. 
Better  keep  in  touch  with  us  all  day  in  case  we  hear. 
You  ought  to  be  there — you're  concerned." 

"I  should  like  to  go — I  will  go,"  said  Breton.  "And 
if  that  grave  proves  to  be — empty — I'll— I'll  tell  you 
something." 

Spargo  looked  up  with  sharp  instinct. 

1 '  You  '11  tell  me  something  ?    Something  ?    What  ? ' 9 

"Never  mind — wait  until  we  see  if  that  coffin  con- 
tains a  dead  body  or  lead  and  sawdust.  If  there's  no 
body  there  " 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  senior  messenger  boys  came 
in  and  approached  Spargo.  His  countenance,  usually 
subdued  to  an  official  stolidity,  showed  signs  of  some- 
thing very  like  excitement. 

"There's  a  man  downstairs  asking  for  you,  Mr. 


THE  PENITENT  WINDOW-CLEANER  271 


Spargo,"  he  said.  * 6 He's  been  hanging  about  a  bit, 
sir, — seems  very  shy  about  coining  up.  He  won't  say 
what  he  wants,  and  he  won't  fill  up  a  form,  sir.  Says 
ail  he  wants  is  a  word  or  two  with  you. 9  ' 

4  '  Bring  him  up  at  once!"  commanded  Spargo.  He 
turned  to  Breton  when  the  boy  had  gone.  ' 4 There!" 
he  said,  laughing.  4 '  This  is  the  man  about  the  stick — 
you  see  if  it  isn't." 

"You're  such  a  cock-sure  chap,  Spargo,"  said  Breton. 
"You're  always  going  on  a  straight  line." 

"Trying  to,  you  mean,"  retorted  Spargo.  "Well, 
stop  here,  and  hear  what  this  chap  has  to  say:  it'll  no 
doubt  be  amusing." 

The  messenger  boy,  deeply  conscious  that  he  was  usher- 
ing into  Spargo 's  room  an  individual  who  might  shortly 
carry  away  a  thousand  pounds  of  good  Watchman  money 
in  his  pocket,  opened  the  door  and  introduced  a  shy  and 
self-conscious  young  man,  whose  nervousness  was  pain- 
fully apparent  to  everybody  and  deeply  felt  by  himself. 
He  halted  on  the  threshold,  looking  round  the  comfort- 
ably-furnished room,  and  at  the  two  well-dressed  young 
men  which  it  framed  as  if  he  feared  to  enter  on  a  scene 
of  such  grandeur. 

"Come  in,  come  in!"  said  Spargo,  rising  and  pointing 
to  an  easy-chair  at  the  side  of  his  desk.  * 4  Take  a  seat. 
You've  called  about  that  reward,  of  course." 

The  man  in  the  chair  eyed  the  two  of  them  cautiously, 
and  not  without  suspicion.  He  cleared  his  throat  with 
a  palpable  effort. 

4 'Of  course,"  he  said.  "It's  all  on  the  strict  private. 
x'ame  of  Edward  Mollison,  sir." 


272     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"And  where  do  you  live,  and  what  do  you  do?"  asked 
Spargo. 

"You  might  put  it  down  Rowton  House,  White- 
chapel,  "  answered  Edward  Mollison.  "Leastways, 
that's  where  I  generally  hang  out  when  I  can  afford  it. 
And — window-cleaner.  Leastways,  I  was  window  clean- 
ing when — when  " 

"When  you  came  in  contact  with  the  stick  we've  been 
advertising  about,"  suggested  Spargo.  "Just  so. 
Well,  Mollison— what  about  the  stick?" 

Mollison  looked  round  at  the  door,  and  then  at  the 
windows,  and  then  at  Breton. 

"There  ain't  no  danger  of  me  being  got  into  trouble 
along  of  that  stick?"  he  asked.  "  'Cause  if  there  is, 
I  ain't  a-going  to  say  a  word — no,  not  for  no  thousand 
pounds!  Me  never  having  been  in  no  trouble  of  any 
sort,  guv 'nor — though  a  poor  man." 

"Not  the  slightest  danger  in  the  world,  Mollison,"  re- 
plied Spargo.  "Not  the  least.  All  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  tell  the  truth — and  prove  that  it  is  the  truth.  So 
it  was  you  who  took  that  queer-looking  stick  out  of  Mr. 
Aylmore's  rooms  in  Fountain  Court,  was  it?" 

Mollison  appeared  to  find  this  direct  question  sooth- 
ing to  his  feelings.    He  smiled  weakly. 

"It  was  cert'nly  me  as  took  it,  sir,"  he  said.  "Not 
that  I  meant  to  pinch  it — not  me !  And,  as  you  might 
say,  I  didn't  take  it,  when  all's  said  and  done.  It  was 
< — put  on  me." 

"Put  on  you,  was  it?"  said  Spargo.  "That's  inter- 
esting.   And  how  was  it  put  on  you?" 

Mollison  grinned  again  and  rubbed  his  chin. 


THE  PENITENT  WINDOW-CLEANER  273 


"It  was  this  here  way,"  he  answered.  "You  see,  I 
was  working  at  that  time — near  on  to  nine  months  since, 
it  is — for  the  Universal  Daylight  Window  Cleaning  Com- 
pany, and  I  used  to  clean  a  many  windows  here  and 
there  in  the  Temple,  and  them  windows  at  Mr.  Ayl- 
more's — only  I  knew  them  as  Mr.  Anderson's — among 
'em.  And  I  was  there  one  morning,  early  it  was,  when 
the  charwoman  she  says  to  me,  'I  wish  you'd  take  these 
two  or  three  hearthrugs, '  she  says,  1  and  give  ?em  a  good  * 
beating,'  she  says.  And  me  being  always  a  ready  one 
to  oblige,  'AH  right!'  I  says,  and  takes  'em.  ' Here's 
something  to  wallop  'em  with,'  she  says,  and  pulls  that 
there  old  stick  out  of  a  lot  that  was  in  a  stand  in  a  corner 
of  the  lobby.    And  that's  how  I  came  to  handle  it,  sir." 

"I  see,"  said  Spargo.    "A  good  explanation.  And 
when  you  had  beaten  the  hearthrugs — what  then?" 

Mollison  smiled  his  weak  smile  again. 

"Well,  sir,  I  looked  at  that  there  stick  and  I  see  it 
was  something  uncommon,"  he  answered.  "And  I 
thinks — 'Well,  this  Mr.  Anderson,  he's  got  a  bundle  of 
sticks  and  walking  canes  up  there — he'll  never  miss  this 
old  thing,'  I  thinks.  And  so  I  left  it  in  a  corner  when 
I'd  done  beating  the  rugs,  and  when  I  went  away  with 
my  things  I  took  it  with  me." 

"You  took  it  with  you?"  said  Spargo.    "Just  so. 
To  keep  as  a  curiosity,  I  suppose  ? ' ' 

Mollison 's  weak  smile  turned  to  one  of  cunning.  He 
was  obviously  losing  his  nervousness;  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice  and  the  reception  of  his  news  was  imparting 
confidence  to  him. 

"Not  half!"  he  answered.    "You  see,  guv 'nor,  there 


274     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


was  an  old  cove  as  I  knew  in  the  Temple  there  as  is,  or 
was,  'cause  I  ain't  been  there  since,  a  collector  of  an- 
tikities,  like,  and  I'd  sold  him  a  queer  old  thing,  time 
and  again.  And,  of  course,  I  had  him  in  my  eye  when 
I  took  the  stick  away — see?" 

"I  see.    And  you  took  the  stick  to  him?" 

"I  took  it  there  and  then,"  replied  Mollison. 
' 6  Pitched  him  a  tale,  I  did,  about  it  having  been  brought 
from  foreign  parts  by  Uncle  Simon — which  I  never  had 
no  Uncle  Simon.  Made  out  it  was  a  rare  curiosity — 
which  it  might  ha'  been  one,  for  all  I  know." 

"Exactly.    And  the  old  cove  took  a  fancy  to  it,  eh?" 

"Bought  it  there  and  then,"  answered  Mollison,  with 
something  very  like  a  wink. 

"Ah!  Bought  it  there  and  then.  And  how  much  did 
he  give  you  for  it?"  asked  Spargo.  "Something  hand- 
some, I  hope  ? ' ' 

"Couple  o'  quid,"  replied  Mollison.  "Me  not  wish- 
ing to  part  with  a  family  heirloom  for  less." 

"Just  so.  And  do  you  happen  to  be  able  to  tell  me 
the  old  cove's  name  and  his  address,  Mollison?"  asked 
Spargo. 

"I  do,  sir.  Which  they've  painted  on  his  entry — the 
fifth  or  sixth  as  you  go  down  Middle  Temple  Lane,"  an* 
swered  Mollison.  "Mr.  Nicholas  Cardlestone,  first  floor 
up  the  staircase." 

Spargo  rose  from  his  seat  without  as  much  as  a  look 
at  Breton. 

"Come  this  way,  Mollison,"  he  said.  "We'll  go  and 
see  about  your  little  reward.   Excuse  me,  Breton." 


THE  PENITENT  WINDOW-CLEANER  275 


Breton  kicked  his  heels  in  solitude  for  half  an  hour. 
Then  Spargo  came  back. 

' ' There — that's  one  matter  settled,  Breton/'  he  said. 
"Now  for  the  next.  The  Home  Secretary's  made  the 
order  for  the  opening  of  the  grave  at  Market  Milcaster. 
I'm  going  down  there  at  once,  and  I  suppose  you're  com- 
ing.   And  remember,  if  that  grave's  empty  " 

"If  that  grave's  empty,"  said  Breton,  "111  tell  you 
—a  good  deal." 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-TWO 


THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  COFFIN 

There  travelled  down  together  to  Market  Milcaster 
late  that  afternoon,  Spargo,  Breton,  the  officials  from 
the  Home  Office,  entrusted  with  the  order  for  the  open- 
ing of  the  Chamberlayne  grave,  and  a  solicitor  acting 
on  behalf  of  the  proprietor  of  the  Watchman.  It  was 
late  in  the  evening  when  they  reached  the  little  town,  but 
Spargo,  having  looked  in  at  the  parlour  of  the  "Yellow 
Dragon"  and  ascertained  that  Mr.  Quarterpage  had  only 
just  gone  home,  took  Breton  across  the  street  to  the  old 
gentleman's  house.  Mr.  Quarterpage  himself  came  to 
the  door,  and  recognized  Spargo  immediately.  Nothing 
would  satisfy  him  but  that  the  two  should  go  in;  his 
family,  he  said,  had  just  retired,  but  he  himself  was 
going  to  take  a  final  nightcap  and  a  cigar,  and  they  must 
share  it. 

"For  a  few  minutes  only  then,  Mr.  Quarterpage," 
said  Spargo  as  they  followed  the  old  man  into  his  dining- 
room.  "We  have  to  be  up  at  daybreak.  And — pos- 
sibly— you,  too,  would  like  to  be  up  just  as  early." 

Mr.  Quarterpage  looked  an  enquiry  over  the  top  of  a 
decanter  which  he  was  handling. 

"At  daybreak?"  he  exclaimed. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Spargo,  "that  grave  of  Cham- 
berlayne ?s  is  going  to  be  opened  at  daybreak.    "We  have 

276 


THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  COFFIN  277 


managed  to  get  an  order  from  the  Home  Secretary  for 
the  exhumation  of  Chamberlayne's  body:  the  officials 
in  charge  of  it  have  come  down  in  the  same  train  with 
us;  we're  all  staying  across  there  at  the  'Dragon.'  The 
officials  have  gone  to  make  the  proper  arrangements  with 
your  authorities.  It  will  be  at  daybreak,  or  as  near  it  as 
can  conveniently  be  managed.  And  I  suppose,  now  that 
you  know  of  it,  you'll  be  there?" 

4  4  God  bless  me!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Quarterpage. 
"You've  really  done  that!  Well,  well,  so  we  shall  know 
the  truth  at  last,  after  all  these  years.  You're  a  very 
wonderful  young  man,  Mi.  Spargo,  upon  my  word. 
And  this  other  young  gentleman?" 

Spargo  looked  at  Breton,  who  had  already  given  him 
permission  to  speak.  "Mr.  Quarterpage,"  he  said, 
"this  young  gentleman  is,  without  doubt,  John  Hait- 
ian d's  son.  He's  the  young  barrister,  Mr.  Konald 
Breton,  that  I  told  you  of,  but  there's  no  doubt  about 
his  parentage.  And  I'm  sure  you'll  shake  hands  with 
him  and  wish  him  well." 

Mr.  Quarterpage  set  down  decanter  and  glass  and 
hastened  to  give  Breton  his  hand. 

"My  dear  young  sir!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  I  will 
indeed  !  And  as  to  wishing  you  well — ah,  I  never  wished 
anything  but  well  to  your  poor  father.  He  was  led 
away,  sir,  led  away  by  Chamberlayne.  God  bless  me, 
what  a  night  of  surprises!  Why,  Mr.  Spargo,  suppos- 
ing that  coffin  is  found  empty — what  then?" 

"Then,"  answered  Spargo,  "then  I  think  we  shall  be 
able  to  put  our  hands  on  the  man  who  is  supposed  to  be 
in  it." 


278     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


44  You  think  my  father  was  worked  upon  by  this  man 
Chamberlayne,  sir?"  observed  Breton  a  few  minutes 
later  when  they  had  all  sat  down  round  Mr.  Quarter- 
page's  hospitable  hearth.  6 'You  think  he  was  unduly 
influenced  by  him?" 

Mr.  Quarterpage  shook  his  head  sadly. 

4 4 Chamberlayne,  my  dear  young  sir/'  he  answered. 
"Chamberlayne  was  a  plausible  and  a  clever  fellow. 
Nobody  knew  anything  about  him  until  he  came  to  this 
town,  and  yet  before  he  had  been  here  very  long  he  had 
contrived  to  ingratiate  himself  with  everybody — of 
course,  to  his  own  advantage.  I  firmly  believe  that  he 
twisted  your  father  round  his  little  finger.  As  I  told 
Mr.  Spargo  there  when  he  was  making  his  enquiries  of 
me  a  short  while  back,  it  would  never  have  been  any  sur- 
prise to  me  to  hear — definitely,  I  mean,  young  gentlemen 
— that  all  this  money  that  was  in  question  went  into 
Chamberlayne's  pockets.  Dear  me — dear  me! — and  you 
really  believe  that  Chamberlayne  is  actually  alive,  Mr. 
Spargo?" 

Spargo  pulled  out  his  watch.  "We  shall  all  know 
whether  he  was  buried  in  that  grave  before  another  six 
hours  are  over,  Mr.  Quarterpage,"  he  said. 

He  might  well  have  spoken  of  four  hours  instead  of 
six,  for  it  was  then  nearly  midnight,  and  before  three 
o'clock  Spargo  and  Breton,  with  the  other  men  who  had 
accompanied  them  from  London  were  out  of  the  "Yel- 
low Dragon"  and  on  their  way  to  the  cemetery  just  out- 
side the  little  town.  Over  the  hills  to  the  eastward  the 
grey  dawn  was  slowly  breaking:  the  long  stretch  of 


THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  COFFIN  279 


marshland  which  lies  between  Market  Milcaster  and  the 
sea  was  white  with  fog:  on  the  cypresses  and  acacias  of 
the  cemetery  hung  veils  and  webs  of  gossamer:  every- 
thing around  them  was  quiet  as  the  dead  folk  who  lay 
beneath  their  feet.  And  the  people  actively  concerned 
went  quietly  to  work,  and  those  who  could  do  nothing 
but  watch  stood  around  in  silence. 

"In  all  my  long  life  of  over  ninety  years,"  whispered 
old  Quarterpage,  who  had  met  them  at  the  cemetery 
gates,  looking  fresh  and  brisk  in  spite  of  his  shortened 
rest,  "I  have  never  seen  this  done  before.  It  seems  a 
strange,  strange  thing  to  interfere  with  a  dead  man's 
last  resting-place — a  dreadful  thing." 

"If  there  is  a  dead  man  there,"  said  Spargo. 

He  himself  was  mainly  curious  about  the  details  of 
this  exhumation;  he  had  no  scruples,  sentimental  or 
otherwise,  about  the  breaking  in  upon  the  dead.  He 
watched  all  that  was  done.  The  men  employed  by  the 
local  authorities,  instructed  over-night,  had  fenced  in 
the  grave  with  canvas ;  the  proceedings  were  accordingly 
conducted  in  strict  privacy;  a  man  was  posted  to  keep 
away  any  very  early  passersby,  who  might  be  attracted 
by  the  unusual  proceedings.  At  first  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  wait,  and  Spargo  occupied  himself  by  reflect- 
ing that  every  spadeful  of  earth  thrown  out  of  that 
grave  was  bringing  him  nearer  to  the  truth;  he  had  an 
unconquerable  intuition  that  the  truth  of  at  any  rate  one 
phase  of  the  Marbury  case  was  going  to  be  revealed  to 
them.  If  the  coffin  to  which  they  were  digging  down 
contained  a  body,  and  that  the  body  of  the  stockbroker, 


280     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Chainberlayne,  then  a  good  deal  of  his,  Spargo 's,  latest 
theory,  would  be  dissolved  to  nothingness.  But  if  that 
coffin  contained  no  body  at  all,  then  " 

"They're  down  to  it!"  whispered  Breton. 

Presently  they  all  went  and  looked  down  into  the 
grave.  The  workmen  had  uncovered  the  coffin  prepara- 
tory to  lifting  it  to  the  surface ;  one  of  them  was  brush- 
ing the  earth  away  from  the  name-plate.  And  in  the 
now  strong  light  they  could  all  read  the  lettering  on  it. 

James  Cartwright  Chamberlayne 
Born  1852 
Died  1891 

Spargo  turned  away  as  the  men  began  to  lift  the  coffin 
out  of  the  grave. 

"We  shall  know  now!"  he  whispered  to  Breton. 
"And  yet — what  is  it  we  shall  know  if  " 

' '  If  what  ? ' '  said  Breton.    4 '  If —what  ? ' 9 

But  Spargo  shook  his  head.  This  was  one  of  the  great 
moments  he  had  lately  been  working  for,  and  the  issues 
were  tremendous. 

- 'Now  for  it!"  said  the  Watchman's  solicitor  in  an 
undertone.    1 4 Come,  Mr.  Spargo,  now  we  shall  see." 

They  all  gathered  round  the  coffin,  set  on  low  trestles 
at  the  graveside,  as  the  workmen  silently  went  to  work 
on  the  screws.  The  screws  were  rusted  in  their  sockets; 
they  grated  as  the  men  slowly  worked  them  out.  It 
seemed  to  Spargo  that  each  man  grew  slower  and  slower 
in  his  movements;  he  felt  that  he  himself  was  getting 
fidgety.    Then  he  heard  a  voice  of  authority. 


THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  COFFIN  281 


6  '  Lift  the  lid  off !" 

A  man  at  the  head  of  the  coffin,  a  man  at  the  foot  sud- 
denly and  swiftly  raised  the  lid :  the  men  gathered  round 
craned  their  necks  with  a  quick  movement. 

Sawdust ! 

The  coffin  was  packed  to  the  brim  with  sawdust,  tightly 
pressed  down.  The  surface  lay  smooth,  undisturbed, 
levelled  as  some  hand  had  levelled  it  long  years  before, 
They  were  not  in  the  presence  of  death,  but  of  deceit. 

Somebody  laughed  faintly.  The  sound  of  the  laugh- 
ter broke  the  spell.  The  chief  official  present  looked 
round  him  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  evident  that  there  were  good  grounds  for  suspi- 
cion," he  remarked.  ' '  Here  is  no  dead  body,  gentlemen. 
See  if  anything  lies  beneath  the  sawdust,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  workmen.    * ' Turn  it  out!" 

The  workmen  began  to  scoop  out  the  sawdust  with 
their  hands;  one  of  them,  evidently  desirous  of  making 
sure  that  no  body  was  in  the  coffin,  thrust  down  his 
fingers  at  various  places  along  its  length.  He,  too, 
laughed. 

' 'The  coffin's  weighted  with  lead!"  he  remarked. 
"See!" 

And  tearing  the  sawdust  aside,  he  showed  those  around 
him  that  at  three  intervals  bars  of  lead  had  been  tightly 
wedged  into  the  coffin  where  the  head,  the  middle,  and 
the  feet  of  a  corpse  would  have  rested. 

"Done  it  cleverly,"  he  remarked,  looking  round. 
"You  see  how  these  weights  have  been  adjusted.  When 
a  body's  laid  out  in  a  coffin,  you  know,  all  the  weight's 
in  the  end  where  the  head  and  trunk  rest.    Here  you  see 


282     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


the  heaviest  bar  of  lead  is  in  the  middle ;  the  lightest  at 
the  feet.  Clever!" 

"Clear  out  all  the  sawdust,"  said  some  one.  " Let's 
see  if  there's  anything  else." 

There  was  something  else.  At  the  bottom  of  the  cof- 
fin two  bundles  of  papers,  tied  up  with  pink  tape.  The 
legal  gentlemen  present  immediately  manifested  great 
interest  in  these.  So  did  Spargo,  who,  pulling  Breton 
along  with  him,  forced  his  way  to  where  the  officials  from 
the  Home  Office  and  the  solicitor  sent  by  the  Watchman 
were  hastily  examining  their  discoveries. 

The  first  bundle  of  papers  opened  evidently  related 
to  transactions  at  Market  Mileaster:  Spargo  caught 
glimpses  of  names  that  were  familiar  to  him,  Mr.  Quar- 
terage's amongst  them.  He  was  not  at  all  astonished 
to  see  these  things.  But  he  was  something  more  than 
astonished  when,  on  the  second  parcel  being  opened,  a 
quantity  of  papers  relating  to  Cloudhampton  and  the 
Hearth  and  Home  Mutual  Benefit  Society  were  revealed. 
He  gave  a  hasty  glance  at  these  and  drew  Breton  aside. 

"It  strikes  me  we've  found  a  good  deal  more  than 
we  ever  bargained  for!"  he  exclaimed.  "Didn't  Ayl- 
more  say  that  the  real  culprit  at  Cloudhampton  was  an- 
other man — his  clerk  or  something  of  that  sort?" 

"He  did,"  agreed  Breton.    "He  insists  on  it." 

"Then  this  fellow  Chamberlayne  must  have  been  the 
man,"  said  Spargo.  "He  came  to  Market  Mileaster 
from  the  north.  What '11  be  done  with  those  papers?" 
he  asked,  turning  to  the  officials. 

"We  are  going  to  seal  them  up  at  once,  and  take  them 


THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  COFFIN  283 


to  London/ '  replied  the  principal  person  in  authority. 
* 4  They  will  be  quite  safe,  Mr.  Spargo;  have  no  fear. 
We  don't  know  what  they  may  reveal." 

14 You  don't,  indeed!"  said  Spargo.  ''But  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  that  I  have  a  strong  belief  that  they'll  re- 
veal a  good  deal  that  nobody  dreams  of,  so  take  the 
greatest  care  of  them." 

Then,  without  waiting  for  further  talk  with  any  one, 
Spargo  hurried  Breton  out  of  the  cemetery.  At  the 
gate,  he  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

1 'Now,  then,  Breton!"  he  commanded.  "Out  with 
it!" 

"With  what?" 

"You  promised  to  tell  me  something — a  great  deal, 
you  said — if  we  found  that  coffin  empty.  It  is  empty. 
Come  on — quick!" 

"All  right.  I  believe  I  know  where  Elphick  and 
Cardlestone  can  be  found.    That's  all." 

"All!  It's  enough.  Where,  then,  in  heaven's 
name?" 

"Elphick  has  a  queer  little  place  where  he  and  Cardle- 
stone sometimes  go  fishing — right  away  up  in  one  of  the 
wildest  parts  of  the  Yorkshire  moors.  I  expect  they've 
gone  there.  Nobody  knows  even  their  names  there — 
they  could  go  and  lie  quiet  there  for — ages." 

"Do  you  know  the  way  to  it?" 

"I  do— I've  been  there." 

Spargo  motioned  him  to  hurry. 

"Come  on,  then,"  he  said.  "We're  going  there  by 
the  very  first  train  out  of  this.    I  know  the  train,  too — 


284     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

we've  just  time  to  snatch  a  mouthful  of  breakfast  and 
to  send  a  wire  to  the  Watchman,  and  then  we'll  be  off. 
Yorkshire! — Gad,  Breton,  that's  over  three  hundred 
miles  away!" 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-THREE 


FORESTALLED 

Travelling  all  that  long  summer  day,  first  from  the 
south-west  of  England  to  the  Midlands,  then  from  the 
Midlands  to  the  north,  Spargo  and  Breton  came  late  at 
night  to  Hawes'  Junction,  on  the  border  of  Yorkshire 
and  Westmoreland,  and  saw  rising  all  around  them  in 
the  half-darkness  the  mighty  bulks  of  the  great  fells 
which  rise  amongst  that  wild  and  lonely  stretch  of  land. 
At  that  hour  of  the  night  and  amidst  that  weird  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  murmur  of  some  adjacent  waterfall 
the  scene  was  impressive  and  suggestive;  it  seemed  to 
Spargo  as  if  London  were  a  million  miles  away,  and  the 
rush  and  bustle  of  human  life  a  thing  of  another  planet. 
Here  and  there  in  the  valleys  he  saw  a  light,  but  such 
lights  were  few  and  far  between ;  even  as  he  looked  some 
of  them  twinkled  and  went  out.  It  was  evident  that  he 
and  Breton  were  presently  to  be  alone  with  the  night. 

"How  far?"  he  asked  Breton  as  they  walked  away 
from  the  station. 

"We'd  better  discuss  matters,"  answered  Breton. 
"The  place  is  in  a  narrow  valley  called  Fossdale,  some 
six  or  seven  miles  away  across  these  fells,  and  as  wild  a 
walk  as  any  lover  of  such  things  could  wish  for.  It's 
half -past  nine  now,  Spargo:  I  reckon  it  will  take  us  a 

285 


286     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


good  two  and  a  half  hours,  if  not  more,  to  do  it.  Now, 
the  question  is — Do  we  go  straight  there,  or  do  we  put 
up  for  the  night?  There's  an  inn  here  at  this  junction; 
there's  the  Moor  Cock  Inn  a  mile  or  so  along  the  road 
which  we  must  take  before  we  turn  off  to  the  moorland 
and  the  fells.  It's  going  to  be  a  black  night — look  at 
those  masses  of  black  cloud  gathering  there ! — and  pos- 
sibly a  wet  one,  and  we've  no  waterproofs.  But  it's  for 
you  to  say — I'm  game  for  whatever  you  like." 

"Do  you  know  the  way?"  asked  Spargo. 

"I've  been  the  way.  In  the  daytime  I  could  go 
straight  ahead.  I  remember  all  the  landmarks.  Even 
in  the  darkness  I  believe  I  can  find  my  way.  But  it's 
rough  walking." 

"We'll  go  straight  there,"  said  Spargo.  "Every  min- 
ute's precious.  But — can  we  get  a  mouthful  of  bread 
and  cheese  and  a  glass  of  ale  first?" 

"Good  idea !  We'll  call  in  at  the  'Moor  Cock.'  Now 
then,  while  we're  on  this  firm  road,  step  it  out  lively." 

The  "Moor  Cock"  was  almost  deserted  at  that  hour: 
there  was  scarcely  a  soul  in  it  when  the  two  travellers 
turned  in  to  its  dimly-lighted  parlour.  The  landlord, 
bringing  the  desired  refreshment,  looked  hard  at  Breton. 

"Come  our  way  again  then,  sir?"  he  remarked  with 
a  sudden  grin  of  recognition. 

"Ah,  you  remember  me?"  said  Breton. 

"I  call  in  mind  when  you  came  here  with  the  two  old 
gents  last  year,"  replied  the  landlord.  "I  hear  they're 
here  again — Tom  Summers  was  coming  across  that  way 
this  morning,  and  said  he'd  seen  'em  at  the  little  cot- 
tage.   Going  to  join  'em,  I  reckon,  sir?" 


FORESTALLED 


287 


Breton  kicked  Spargo  under  the  table. 

"Yes,  we're  going  to  have  a  day  or  two  with  them," 
he  answered,  "Just  to  get  a  breath  of  your  moorland 
air." 

"Well,  you'll  have  a  roughish  walk  over  there  tonight, 
gentlemen,"  said  the  landlord.  "There's  going  to  be 
a  storm.  And  it 's  a  stiffish  way  to  make  out  at  this  time 
o'nioht." 

"Oh,  we'll  manage,"  said  Breton,  nonchalantly.  "I 
know  the  way,  and  we're  not  afraid  of  a  wet  skin." 

The  landlord  laughed,  and  sitting  down  on  his  long 
settle  folded  his  arms  and  scratched  his  elbows. 

"There  was  a  gentleman — London  gentleman  by  his 
tongue — came  in  here  this  afternoon,  and  asked  the  way 
to  Fossdale,"  he  observed.  "He'll  be  there  long  since 
— he'd  have  daylight  for  his  walk.  Happen  he's  one 
of  your  party? — he  asked  where  the  old  gentlemen's 
little  cottage  was." 

Again  Spargo  felt  his  shin  kicked  and  made  no  sign. 

"One  of  their  friends,  perhaps,"  answered  Breton. 
"What  was  he  like?" 

The  landlord  ruminated.  He  was  not  good  at  de- 
scription and  was  conscious  of  the  fact. 

""Well,  a  darkish,  serious-faced  gentleman,"  he  said. 
"Stranger  hereabouts,  at  all  events.  Wore  a  grey  suit 
— something  like  your  friend's  there.  Yes — he  took 
some  bread  and  cheese  with  him  when  he  heard  what 
a  long  way  it  was." 

"Wise  man,"  remarked  Breton.  He  hastily  finished 
his  own  bread  and  cheese,  and  drank  off  the  rest  of  his 
pint  of  ale.    "Come  on,"  he  said,  "let's  be  stepping." 


288     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Outside,  in  the  almost  tangible  darkness,  Breton 
clutched  Spargo's  arm.  4 ' Who's  the  man?"  he  said. 
"Can  you  think,  Spargo?" 

"Can't/'  answered  Spargo.  "I  was  trying  to,  while 
that  chap  was  talking.  But — it's  somebody  that's  got 
in  before  us.  Not  Rathbury,  anyhow — he's  not  serious- 
faced.  Heavens,  Breton,  however  are  you  going  to  find 
your  way  in  this  darkness?" 

"You'll  see  presently.  "We  follow  the  road  a  little. 
Then  we  turn  up  the  fell  side  there.  On  the  top,  if  the 
night  clears  a  bit,  we  ought  to  see  Great  Shunnor  Fell 
and  Lovely  Seat — they're  both  well  over  two  thousand 
feet,  and  they  stand  up  well.  We  want  to  make  for  a 
point  clear  between  them.  But  I  warn  you,  Spargo,  it's 
stiff  going!" 

"Go  ahead!"  said  Spargo.  "It's  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  ever  did  anything  of  this  sort,  but  we're  going  on 
if  it  takes  us  all  night.  I  couldn't  sleep  in  any  bed  now 
that  I've  heard  there's  somebody  ahead  of  us.  Go  first, 
old  chap,  and  I '11  follow." 

Breton  went  steadily  forward  along  the  road.  That 
was  easy  work,  but  when  he  turned  off  and  began  to 
thread  his  way  up  the  fell-side  by  what  was  obviously 
no  more  than  a  sheep-track,  Spargo's  troubles  began. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  walking  as  in  a  nightmare ; 
all  that  he  saw  was  magnified  and  heightened ;  the  dark- 
ening sky  above;  the  faint  outlines  of  the  towering  hills; 
the  gaunt  spectres  of  fir  and  pine ;  the  figure  of  Breton 
forging  stolidly  and  surely  ahead.  Now  the  ground  was 
soft  and  spongy  under  his  feet;  now  it  was  stony  and 
rugged ;  more  than  once  he  caught  an  ankle  in  the  wire- 


FORESTALLED 


289 


like  heather  and  tripped,  bruising  his  knees.  And  in  the 
end  he  resigned  himself  to  keeping  his  eye  on  Breton, 
outlined  against  the  sky,  and  following  doggedly  in  his 
footsteps. 

"Was  there  no  other  way  than  this?''  he  asked  after 
a  long  interval  of  silence.  4  4  Do  you  mean  to  say  those 
two — Elphick  and  Cardlestone — would  take  this  way?" 

"There  is  another  way — down  the  valley,  by  Thwaite 
Sridge  and  Hardraw,"  answered  Breton,  "but  it's 
miles  and  miles  round.  This  is  a  straight  cut  across 
country,  and  in  daylight  it's  a  delightful  walk.  But 
at  night — Gad ! — here's  the  vain,  Spargo !" 

The  rain  came  down  as  it  does  in  that  part  of  the 
world,  with  a  suddenness  that  was  as  fierce  as  it  was 
heavy.  The  whole  of  the  grey  night  was  blotted  out^ 
Spargo  was  only  conscious  that  he  stood  in  a  vast  soli- 
tude and  was  being  gradually  drowned.  But  Breton, 
fahose  sight  was  keener,  and  who  had  more  knowledge  of 
the  situation  dragged  his  companion  into  the  shelter  of 
a  group  of  rocks.  He  laughed  a  little  as  they  huddled 
closely  together. 

"This  is  a  different  sort  of  thing  to  pursuing  detec- 
tive wrork  in  Fleet  Street,  Spargo,"  he  said.  "You 
would  come  on,  you  know." 

"I'm  going  on  if  we  go  through  cataracts  and  floods," 
answered  Spargo.  "I  might  have  been  induced  to  stop 
at  the  6 Moor  Cock'  overnight  if  we  hadn't  heard  of  that 
chap  in  front.  If  he's  after  those  two  he's  somebody 
who  knows  something.  What  I  can't  make  out  is — who 
he  can  be." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Breton.    "I  can't  think  of  anybody 


290     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


who  knows  of  this  retreat.  But — has  it  ever  struck  you, 
SpargOj  that  somebody  beside  yourself  may  have  been 
investigating  Vs 

''Possible/''  replied  Spargo.  "One  never  knows.  I 
only  wish  we'd  been  a  few  hours  earlier.  For  I  wanted 
to  have  the  first  word  with  those  two/' 

The  rain  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  Just 
as  suddenly  the  heavens  cleared.  And  going  forward 
to  the  top  of  the  ridge  which  they  were  then  crossing, 
Breton  pointed  an  arm  to  something  shining  far  away 
below  them. 

ikYou  see  that?''  he  said.  "That's  a  sheet  of  water 
lying  between  us  and  Cotterdale.  We  leave  that  on  our 
right  hand,  climb  the  fell  beyond  it,  drop  down  into 
Cotterdale,  cross  two  more  ranges  of  fell,  and  come  down 
into  Fossdale  under  Lovely  Seat.  There's  a  good  two 
hours  and  a  half  stiff  pull  yet,  Spargo.  Think  you  can 
stick  it?'' 

Spargo  set  his  teeth. 

"Go  on!"  he  said. 

Up  hill,  down  dale,  now  up  to  his  ankles  in  peaty 
ground,  now  tearing  his  shins,  now  bruising  his  knees, 
Spargo,  yearning  for  the  London  lights,  the  well-paved 
London  streets,  the  convenient  taxi-cab,  even  the  humble 
omnibus,  plodded  forward  after  his  guide.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  they  had  walked  for  ages  and  had  traversed 
a  whole  continent  of  mountains  and  valley  when  at  last 
Breton,  halting  on  the  summit  of  a  wind-swept  ridge, 
laid  one  hand  on  his  companion's  shoulder  and  pointed 
downward  with  the  other. 

"There!"  he  said.  "There!" 


FORESTALLED 


291 


Spargo  looked  ahead  into  the  night.  Far  away,  at 
what  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  considerable  distance,  he 
saw  the  faint,  very  faint  glimmer  of  a  light — a  mere 
spark  of  a  light. 

' 'That's  the  cottage/'  said  Breton.  "Late  as  it  is, 
you  see,  they're  up.  And  here's  the  roughest  bit  of  the 
journey.  It'll  take  me  all  my  time  to  find  the  track 
across  this  moor,  Spargo,  so  step  carefully  after  me — 
there  are  bogs  and  holes  hereabouts." 

Another  hour  had  gone  by  ere  the  two  came  to  the 
cottage.  Sometimes  the  guiding  light  had  vanished, 
blotted  out  by  intervening  rises  in  the  ground;  always, 
when  they  saw  it  again,  they  were  slowly  drawing  nearer 
to  it.  And  now  when  they  were  at  last  close  to  it,  Spargo 
realized  that  he  found  himself  in  one  of  the  loneliest 
places  he  had  ever  been  capable  of  imagining — so  lonely 
and  desolate  a  spot  he  had  certainly  never  seen.  In  the 
dim  light  he  could  see  a  narrow,  crawling  stream,  mak- 
ing its  way  down  over  rocks  and  stones  from  the  high 
ground  of  Great  Shunnor  Fell.  Opposite  to  the  place 
at  which  they  stood,  on  the  edge  of  the  moorland,  a  horse- 
shoe like  formation  of  ground  was  backed  by  a  ring  of 
fir  and  pine ;  beneath  this  protecting  fringe  of  trees  stood 
a  small  building  of  grey  stone  which  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  originally  built  by  some  shepherd  as  a  pen  for  the 
moorland  sheep.  It  was  of  no  more  than  one  storey  in 
height,  but  of  some  length ;  a  considerable  part  of  it  was 
hidden  by  shrubs  and  brushwood.  And  from  one  un- 
curtained, blindless  window  the  light  of  a  lamp  shone 
boldly  into  the  fading  darkness  without. 

Breton  pulled  up  on  the  edge  of  the  crawling  stream, 


292 


THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


6 6 We've  got  to  get  across  there,  Spargo,"  he  said. 
6 4 But  as  we're  already  soaked  to  the  knee  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter about  getting  another  wetting.  Have  you  any  idea 
how  long  we 've  been  walking  ? ' ' 

" Hours — days — years!"  replied  Spargo. 

"I  should  say  quite  four  hours,"  said  Breton.  "In 
that  case,  it's  well  past  two  o'clock,  and  the  light  will 
be  breaking  in  another  hour  or  so.  Now,  once  across 
this  stream,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"What  have  we  come  to  do?  Go  to  the  cottage,  of 
course!" 

"Wait  a  bit.  No  need  to  startle  them.  By  the  fact 
they've  got  a  light,  I  take  it  that  they're  up.  Look 
there!" 

As  he  spoke,  a  figure  crossed  the  window  passing  be- 
tween it  and  the  light. 

"That's  not  Elphick,  nor  yet  Cardlestone, "  said 
Spargo.  "They're  medium-heighted  men.  That's  a 
tallish  man." 

"Then  it's  the  man  the  landlord  of  the  'Moor  Cock' 
told  us  about,"  said  Breton.  "Now,  look  here — I  know 
every  inch  of  this  place.  When  we're  across  let  me  go 
up  to  the  cottage,  and  I'll  take  an  observation  through 
that  window  and  see  who's  inside.    Come  on." 

He  led  Spargo  across  the  stream  at  a  place  where  a 
succession  of  boulders  made  a  natural  bridge,  and  bid- 
ding him  keep  quiet,  went  up  the  bank  to  the  cottage. 
Spargo,  watching  him,  saw  him  make  his  way  past  the 
shrubs  and  undergrowth  until  he  came  to  a  great  bush 
which  stood  between  the  lighted  window  and  the  pro- 
jecting porch  of  the  cottage.    He  lingered  in  the  shadow 


FORESTALLED 


293 


of  this  bush  but  for  a  short  moment;  then  came  swiftly 
and  noiselessly  back  to  his  companion.  His  hand  fell  on 
Spargo's  arm  with  a  clutch  of  nervous  excitement. 

"Spargo!"  he  whispered.  1 i  Who  on  earth  do  you 
think  the  other  man  is?" 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FOUR 


THE  WHIP  HAND 

Spargo,  almost  irritable  from  desire  to  get  at  close 
grips  with  the  objects  of  his  long  journey,  shook  off 
Breton 's  hand  with  a  growl  of  resentment. 

"And  how  on  earth  can  I  waste  time  guessing?"  he 
exclaimed.    "Who  is  he?" 

Breton  laughed  softly. 

"Steady,  Spargo,  steady!"  he  said.  "It's  My  erst — 
the  Safe  Deposit  man.  Myerst!" 

Spargo  started  as  if  something  had  bitten  him. 

"Myerst!"  he  almost  shouted.  "Myerst!  Good 
Lord! — why  did  I  never  think  of  him?  Myerst! 
Then  " 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  have  thought  of  him," 
said  Breton.  "But — he's  there." 

Spargo  took  a  step  towards  the  cottage ;  Breton  pulled 
Aim  back. 

"Wait!"  he  said.  "We've  got  to  discuss  this.  I'd 
^tter  tell  you  what  they're  doing." 

"What  are  they  doing,  then?"  demanded  Spargo  im- 
patiently. 

"Well,"  answered  Breton.  "They're  going  through 
a  quantity  of  papers.  The  two  old  gentlemen  look  very 
ill  and  very  miserable.   Myerst  is  evidently  laying  down 

204 


THE  WHIP  HAND 


295 


the  law  to  them  in  some  fashion  or  other.    I've  formed 
a  notion,  Spargo. ' 9 
"What  notion?" 

"Myerst  is  in  possession  of  whatever  secret  they  have, 
and  he's  followed  them  down  here  to  blackmail  them. 
That's  my  notion." 

Spargo  thought  awhile,  pacing  up  and  down  the  river 
bank. 

"I  daresay  you're  right,"  he  said.  "Now,  what's  to 
be  done?" 

Breton,  too,  considered  matters. 

"I  wish,"  he  said  at  last,  "X  wish  we  could  get  in 
there  and  overhear  what's  going  on.  But  that's  impos- 
sible— I  know  that  cottage.  The  only  thing  we  can  do 
is  this — we  must  catch  Myerst  unawares.  He's  here  for 
no  good.    Look  here!" 

And  reaching  round  to  his  hip-pocket  Breton  drew  out 
a  Browning  revolver  and  wagged  it  in  his  hand  with  a 
smile. 

"That's  a  useful  thing  to  have,  Spargo,"  he  remarked. 
"I  slipped  it  into  my  pocket  the  other  day,  wondering 
why  on  earth  I  did  it.  Now  it'll  come  in  handy.  For 
anything  we  know  Myerst  may  be  armed." 

"Well?"  said  Spargo. 

"Come  up  to  the  cottage.  If  things  turn  out  as  I 
think  they  will,  Myerst,  when  he's  got  what  he  wants, 
will  be  off.  Now,  you  shall  get  where  I  did  just  now, 
behind  that  bush,  and  I  '11  station  myself  in  the  doorway. 
Tou  can  report  to  me,  and  when  Myerst  comes  out  I'll 
cover  him.  Come  on,  Spargo;  it's  beginning  to  get  light 
already. ' ' 


296     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Breton  cautiously  led  the  way  along  the  river  bank, 
making  use  of  such  cover  as  the  willows  and  alders  af- 
forded. Together,  he  and  Spargo  made  their  way  to 
the  front  of  the  cottage.  Arrived  at  the  door,  Breton 
posted  himself  in  the  porch,  motioning  to  Spargo  to 
creep  in  behind  the  bushes  and  to  look  through  the  win- 
dow. And  Spargo  noiselessly  followed  his  directions 
and  slightly  parting  the  branches  which  concealed  him 
looked  in  through  the  uncurtained  glass. 

The  interior  into  which  he  looked  was  rough  and  com- 
fortless in  the  extreme.  There  were  the  bare  accessories 
of  a  moorland  cottage;  rough  chairs  and  tables,  plas- 
tered walls,  a  fishing  rod  or  two  piled  in  a  corner ;  some 
food  set  out  on  a  side  table.  At  the  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor  the  three  men  sat.  Cardlestone's  face  was 
in  the  shadow;  Myerst  had  his  back  to  the  window;  old 
Elphick  bending  over  the  table  was  laboriously  writing 
with  shaking  fingers.  And  Spargo  twisted  his  head 
round  to  his  companion. 

" Elphick,"  he  said,  "is  writing  a  cheque.  Myerst 
has  another  cheque  in  his  hand.  Be  ready! — when  he 
gets  that  second  cheque  I  guess  he'll  be  off." 

Breton  smiled  grimly  and  nodded.  A  moment  later 
Spargo  whispered  again. 

"Look  out,  Breton!    He's  coming." 

Breton  drew  back  into  the  angle  of  the  porch ;  Spargo 
quitted  his  protecting  bush  and  took  the  other  angle. 
The  door  opened.  And  they  heard  Myerst 's  voice, 
threatening,  commanding  in  tone. 

"Now,  remember  all  I've  said!    And  don't  you  for- 


THE  WHIP  HAND 


297 


get — I  Ve  the  whip  hand  of  both  of  you — the  whip 
hand!" 

Then  Myerst  turned  and  stepped  out  into  the  grey 
light — to  find  himself  confronted  by  an  athletic  young 
man  who  held  the  muzzle  of  an  ugly  revolver  within 
two  inches  of  the  bridge  of  his  nose  and  in  a  remark- 
ably firm  and  steady  grip.  Another  glance  showed  him 
the  figure  of  a  second  business-like  looking  young  man 
at  his  side,  whose  attitude  showed  a  desire  to  grapple 
with  him. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Myerst,"  said  Breton  with  cold 
and  ironic  politeness.  "We  are  glad  to  meet  you  so  un- 
expectedly. And — I  must  trouble  you  to  put  up  your 
hands.    Quick ! ' ' 

Myerst  made  one  hurried  movement  of  his  right  hand 
towards  his  hip,  but  a  sudden  growl  from  Breton  made 
him  shift  it  just  as  quickly  above  his  head,  whither  the 
left  followed  it.    Breton  laughed  softly. 

"That's  wise,  Mr.  Myerst,"  he  said,  keeping  his  re- 
volver steadily  pointed  at  his  prisoner's  nose.  "Discre- 
tion will  certainly  be  the  better  part  of  your  valour  on 
this  occasion.  Spargo — may  I  trouble  you  to  see  what 
Mr.  Myerst  carries  in  his  pockets?  Go  through  them 
carefully.  Not  for  papers  or  documents — just  now. 
We  can  leave  that  matter — we've  plenty  of  time.  See  if 
he's  got  a  weapon  of  any  sort  on  him,  Spargo — that's  the 
important  thing." 

Considering  that  Spargo  had  never  gone  through  the 
experience  of  searching  a  man  before,  he  made  sharp  and 
creditable  work  of  seeing  what  the  prisoner  carried. 


298     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


And  lie  forthwith  drew  out  and  exhibited  a  revolver, 
while  Myerst,  finding  his  tongue,  cursed  them  both, 
heartily  and  with  profusion. 

"Excellent!"  said  Breton,  laughing  again.  "Sure 
he's  got  nothing  else  on  him  that's  dangerous,  Spargo? 
All  right.  Now,  Mr.  Myerst,  right  about  face!  Walk 
into  the  cottage,  hands  up,  and  remember  there  are  two 
revolvers  behind  your  back.  March!" 

Myerst  obeyed  this  peremptory  order  with  more 
curses.  The  three  walked  into  the  cottage.  Breton 
kept  his  eye  on  his  captive ;  Spargo  gave  a  glance  at  the 
two  old  men.  Cardlestone,  white  and  shaking,  was  ly- 
ing back  in  his  chair;  Elphick,  scarcely  less  alarmed, 
had  risen,  and  was  coming  forward  with  trembling  limbs. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Breton,  soothingly.  "Don't 
alarm  yourself.  We'll  deal  with  Mr.  Myerst  here  first. 
Now,  Myerst,  my  man,  sit  down  in  that  chair — it's  the 
heaviest  the  place  affords.  Into  it,  now!  Spargo,  you 
see  that  coil  of  rope  there.  Tie  Myerst  up — hand  and 
foot — to  that  chair.  And  tie  him  well.  All  the  knots 
to  be  double,  Spargo,  and  behind  him." 

Myerst  suddenly  laughed. 

"You  damned  young  bully!"  he  exclaimed.  "If  you 
put  a  rope  round  me,  you're  only  putting  ropes  round 
the  necks  of  these  two  old  villains.  Mark  that,  my  fine 
fellows!" 

"We'll  see  about  that  later,"  answered  Breton.  He 
kept  Myerst  covered  while  Spargo  made  play  with  the 
rope.  "Don't  be  afraid  of  hurting  him,  Spargo,"  he 
said.  "Tie  him  well  and  strong.  He  won't  shift  that 
chair  in  a  hurry." 


THE  WHIP  HAND 


299 


Spargo  spliced  his  man  to  the  chair  in  a  fashion  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  sailor.  He  left  Myers  t  lit- 
erally unable  to  move  either  hand  or  foot,  and  Myerst 
cursed  him  from  crown  to  heel  for  his  pains.  "That'll 
do,"  said  Breton  at  last.  He  dropped  his  revolver  into 
his  pocket  and  turned  to  the  two  old  men.  Elphick 
averted  his  eyes  and  sank  into  a  chair  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  room :  old  Cardlestone  shook  as  with  palsy 
and  muttered  words  which  the  two  young  men  could  not 
catch.  "Guardian,"  continued  Breton,  "don't  be 
frightened!  And  don't  you  be  frightened,  either,  Mr. 
Cardlestone.  There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  just  yet, 
whatever  there  may  be  later  on.  It  seems  to  me  that 
Mr.  Spargo  and  I  came  just  in  tima  Now,  guardian, 
what  was  this  fellow  after?" 

Old  Elphick  lifted  his  head  and  shook  it;  he  was 
plainly  on  the  verge  of  tears ;  as  for  Cardlestone,  it  was 
evident  that  his  nerve  was  completely  gone.  And  Breton 
pointed  Spargo  to  an  old  corner  cupboard. 

"Spargo,"  he  said,  "I'm  pretty  sure  you'll  find 
whisky  in  there.  Give  them  both  a  stiff  dose:  they've 
broken  up.  Now,  guardian,"  he  continued,  when  Spargo 
had  carried  out  this  order,  "what  was  he  after?  Shall 
I  suggest  it?   Was  it — blackmail?" 

Cardlestone  began  to  whimper;  Elphick  nodded  his 
head.  "Yes,  yes!"  he  muttered.  "Blackmail!  That 
was  it — blackmail.  He — he  got  money — papers — from 
us.    They're  on  him." 

Breton  turned  on  the  captive  with  a  look  of  contempt. 

"I  thought  as  much,  Mr.  Myerst."  he  said.  "Spargo, 
let's  see  what  he  has  on  hinL** 


300     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Spargo  began  to  search  the  prisoner's  pockets.  He 
laid  out  everything  on  the  table  as  he  found  it.  It  was 
plain  that  Myerst  had  contemplated  some  sort  of  flight 
or  a  long,  long  journey.  There  was  a  quantity  of  loose 
gold;  a  number  of  bank-notes  of  the  more  easily  nego- 
tiated denominations;  various  foreign  securities,  realiz- 
able in  Paris.  And  there  was  an  open  cheque,  signed 
by  Cardlestone  for  ten  thousand  pounds,  and  another, 
with  Elphick  ?s  name  at  the  foot,  also  open,  for  half  that 
amount.  Breton  examined  all  these  matters  as  Spargo 
handed  them  out.    He  turned  to  old  Elphick. 

"Guardian,"  he  said,  "why  have  you  or  Mr.  Cardle- 
stone given  this  man  these  cheques  and  securities? 
What  hold  has  he  on  you?" 

Old  Cardlestone  began  to  whimper  afresh;  Elphick 
turned  a  troubled  face  on  his  ward. 

"He — he  threatened  to  accuse  us  of  the  murder  of 
Marbury!"  he  faltered.  "We — we  didn't  see  that  we 
had  a  chance." 

"What  does  he  know  of  the  murder  of  Marbury  and 
of  you  in  connection  with  it?"  demanded  Breton. 
"Come — tell  me  the  truth  now." 

"He's  been  investigating — so  he  says,"  answered  El- 
phick. "He  lives  in  that  house  in  Middle  Temple  Lane, 
you  know,  in  the  top-floor  rooms  above  Cardlestone 's. 
And — and  he  says  he's  the  fullest  evidence  against 
Cardlestone — and  against  me  as  an  accessory  after  the 
fact." 

"And— it's  a  lie?"  asked  Breton. 
"A  lie!"  answered  Elphick.    "Of  course,  it's  a  lie. 
But — he's  so  clever  that — that  " 


THE  WHIP  HAND 


SOI 


"That  you  don't  know  how  you  could  prove  it  other- 
wise," said  Breton.  "Ah!  And  so  this  fellow  lives 
over  Mr.  Cardlestone  there,  does  he  ?  That  may  account 
for  a  good  many  things.  Now  we  must  have  the  police 
here."  He  sat  down  at  the  table  and  drew  the  writing 
materials  to  him.  "Look  here,  Spargo,"  he  continued. 
"I'm  going  to  write  a  note  to  the  superintendent  of 
police  at  Hawes — there's  a  farm  half  a  mile  from  here 
where  I  can  get  a  man  to  ride  down  to  Hawes  with  the 
note.  Now,  if  you  want  to  send  a  wire  to  the  Watchman, 
draft  it  out,  and  he  '11  take  it  with  him. ' ' 

Elphick  began  to  move  in  his  corner. 

"Must  the  police  come?"  he  said,    "Must  " 

"The  police  must  come,"  answered  Breton  firmly, 
"Go  ahead  with  your  wire,  Spargo,  while  I  write  this 
note." 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  later,  when  Breton  came 
back  from  the  farm,  he  sat  down  at  Elphick 's  side  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  old  man's. 

"Now,  guardian,"  he  said,  quietly,  "you've  got  to 
tell  us  the  truth. ' 9 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FIVE 

MYEBST  EXPLAINS 

It  had  been  apparent  to  Spargo,  from  the  moment  of 
his  entering  the  cottage,  that  the  two  old  men  were  suf- 
fering badly  from  shock  and  fright:  Cardlestone  still 
sat  in  his  corner  shivering  and  trembling;  he  looked  in- 
capable of  explaining  anything;  Elphick  was  scarcely 
more  fitted  to  speak.  And  when  Breton  issued  his 
peremptory  invitation  to  his  guardian  to  tell  the  truth, 
Spargo  intervened. 

"Far  better  leave  him  alone,  Breton,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice.  "Don't  you  see  the  old  chap's  done  up? 
They're  both  done  up.  We  don't  know  what  they've 
gone  through  with  this  fellow  before  we  came,  and  it's 
certain  they've  had  no  sleep.  Leave  it  all  till  later — af- 
ter all,  we've  found  them  and  we've  found  him."  He 
jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  in  My  erst 's  direc- 
tion, and  Breton  involuntarily  followed  the  movement. 
He  caught  the  prisoner's  eye,  and  Myerst  laughed. 

"I  daresay  you  two  young  men  think  yourselves  very 
clever,"  he  said  sneeringly.    "Don't  you,  now?" 

"We've  been  clever  enough  to  catch  you,  anyway," 
retorted  Breton.  "And  now  we've  got  you  we'll  keep 
you  till  the  police  can  relieve  us  of  you." 

"Oh!"  said  Myerst,  with  another  sneering  laugh. 
302 


MYERST  EXPLAINS 


303 


' 'And  on  what  charge  do  you  propose  to  hand  me  over  to 
the  police?  It  strikes  me  you'll  have  some  difficulty  in 
formulating  one,  Mr.  Breton." 

"Well  see  about  that  later,"  said  Breton.  "You've 
extorted  money  by  menaces  from  these  gentlemen,  at  any 
rate." 

"Have  I?  How  do  you  know  they  didn't  entrust 
me  with  these  cheques  as  their  agent?"  exclaimed  My- 
erst.  "Answer  me  that!  Or,  rather,  let  them  answer 
if  they  dare.  Here  you,  Cardlestone,  you  Elphick — 
didn't  you  give  me  these  cheques  as  your  agent?  Speak 
up  now,  and  quick ! ' ' 

Spargo,  watching  the  two  old  men,  saw  them  both 
quiver  at  the  sound  of  Myerst 's  voice;  Cardlestone  in- 
deed, began  to  whimper  softly. 

"Look  here,  Breton,"  he  said,  whispering,  "this 
scoundrel's  got  some  hold  on  these  two  old  chaps — they're 
frightened  to  death  of  him.  Leave  them  alone :  it  would 
be  best  for  them  if  they  could  get  some  rest.  Hold  your 
tongue,  you!"  he  added  aloud,  turning  to  Myerst. 
"When  we  want  you  to  speak  we'll  tell  you." 

But  Myerst  laughed  again. 

"All  very  high  and  mighty,  Mr.  Spargo  of  the  Watch- 
man!" he  sneered.  "You're  another  of  the  cock-sure 
lot.  And  you're  very  clever,  but  not  clever  enough. 
Now,  look  here!    Supposing  " 

Spargo  turned  his  back  on  him.  He  went  over  to  old 
Cardlestone  and  felt  his  hands.  And  he  turned  to 
Breton  with  a  look  of  concern. 

"I  say!"  he  exclaimed.  "He's  more  than  fright- 
ened—he's ill!    What's  to  be  done?" 


304     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


"I  asked  the  police  to  bring  a  doctor  along  with 
them/'  answered  Breton.  "In  the  meantime,  let's  put 
him  to  bed — there  are  beds  in  that  inner  room.  We'll 
get  him  to  bed  and  give  him  something  hot  to  drink — 
that's  all  I  can  think  of  for  the  present." 

Between  them  they  managed  to  get  Cardlestone  to 
his  bed,  and  Spargo,  with  a  happy  thought,  boiled  water 
on  the  rusty  stove  and  put  hot  bottles  to  his  feet.  When 
that  was  done  they  persuaded  Elphick  to  lie  down  in  the 
inner  room.  Presently  both  old  men  fell  asleep,  and 
then  Breton  and  Spargo  suddenly  realized  that  they 
themselves  were  hungry  and  wet  and  weary. 

" There  ought  to  be  food  in  the  cupboard,"  said 
Breton,  beginning  to  rummage.  1 6 They've  generally 
had  a  good  stock  of  tinned  things.  Here  we  are,  Spargo 
— these  are  tongues  and  sardines.  Make  some  hot  coffee 
while  I  open  one  of  these  tins." 

The  prisoner  watched  the  preparations  for  a  rough 
and  ready  breakfast  with  eyes  that  eventually  began  to 
glisten. 

"I  may  remind  you  that  I'm  hungry,  too,"  he  said  as 
Spargo  set  the  coffee  on  the  table.  "And  you've  no 
right  to  starve  me,  even  if  you've  the  physical  ability  to 
keep  me  tied  up.  Give  me  something  to  eat,  if  you 
please." 

"You  shan't  starve,"  said  Breton,  carelessly.  He  cut 
an  ample  supply  of  bread  and  meat,  filled  a  cup  with 
coffee  and  placed  cup  and  plate  before  Myerst.  "Untie 
his  right  arm,  Spargo,"  he  continued.  "I  think  we  can 
give  him  that  liberty.  We've  got  his  revolver,  any- 
how." 


MYERST  EXPLAINS 


305 


For  a  while  the  three  men  ate  and  drank  in  silence. 
At  last  Myerst  pushed  his  plate  away.  He  looked  scru- 
tinizingly  at  his  two  captors.  ' 1 Look  here!"  he  said. 
"You  think  you  know  a  lot  about  all  this  affair,  Spargo, 
but  there's  only  one  person  who  knows  all  about  it. 
That's  me!" 

"We're  taking  that  for  granted,"  said  Spargo.  "We 
guessed  as  much  when  we  found  you  here.  You'll  have 
ample  opportunity  for  explanation,  you  know,  later  on." 

"I'll  explain  now,  if  you  care  to  hear,"  said  Myerst 
with  another  of  his  cynical  laughs.  "And  if  I  do,  I'll 
tell  you  the  truth.  I  know  you've  got  an  idea  in  your 
heads  that  isn't  favourable  to  me,  but  you're  utterly 
wrong,  whatever  you  may  think.  Look  here ! — I  '11  make 
you  a  fair  offer.  There  are  some  cigars  in  my  case  there 
— give  me  one,  and  mix  me  a  drink  of  that  whisky — a 
good  'un — and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know  about  this  mat- 
ter. Come  on! — anything 's  better  than  sitting  here  do- 
ing nothing." 

The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other.  Then 
Breton  nodded.  "Let  him  talk  if  he  likes,"  he  said. 
"We're  not  bound  to  believe  him.  And  we  may  hear 
something  that's  true.    Give  him  his  cigar  and  his  drink. 

Myerst  took  a  stiff  pull  at  the  contents  of  the  tumbler 
which  Spargo  presently  set  before  him.  He  laughed  as 
he  inhaled  the  first  fumes  of  his  cigar. 

"As  it  happens,  you'll  hear  nothing  but  the  truth," 
he  observed.  "Now  that  things  are  as  they  are,  there's 
no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  tell  the  truth.  The  fact  is, 
I've  nothing  to  fear.  You  can't  give  me  in  charge,  for 
it  so  happens  that  I've  got  a  power  of  attorney  from 


306     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


these  two  old  chaps  inside  there  to  act  for  them  in  re- 
gard to  the  money  they  entrusted  me  with.  It's  in  an 
inside  pocket  of  that  letter-case,  and  if  you  look  at  it, 
Breton,  you'll  see  it's  in  order.  I'm  not  even  going  to 
dare  you  to  interfere  with  or  destroy  it — you're  a  bar- 
rister, and  you'll  respect  the  law.  But  that's  a  fact— 
and  if  anybody's  got  a  case  against  anybody,  I  have 
against  you  two  for  assault  and  illegal  detention.  But 
I'm  not  a  vindictive  man,  and  " 

Breton  took  up  Myerst's  letter-case  and  examined  its 
contents.    And  presently  he  turned  to  Spargo. 

"He's  right!"  he  whispered.  "This  is  quite  in  or- 
der." He  turned  to  Myerst,  "All  the  same,"  he  said, 
addressing  him,  "we  shan't  release  you,  because  we  be- 
lieve you're  concerned  in  the  murder  of  John  Marbury. 
We're  justified  in  holding  you  on  that  account." 

"All  right,  my  young  friend,"  said  Myerst.  "Have 
your  own  stupid  way.  But  I  said  I'd  tell  you  the  plain 
truth.  Well,  the  plain  truth  is  that  I  know  no  more  of 
the  absolute  murder  of  your  father  than  I  know  of  what 
is  going  on  in  Timbuctoo  at  this  moment!  I  do  not 
know  who  killed  John  Maitland.  That's  a  fact!  It 
may  have  been  the  old  man  in  there  who's  already  at 
his  own  last  gasp,  or  it  mayn't.  I  tell  you  I  don't  know 
— though,  like  you,  Spargo,  I've  tried  hard  to  find  out. 
That's  the  truth — I  do  not  know." 

"You  expect  us  to  believe  that?"  exclaimed  Breton 
incredulously. 

"Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  like — it's  the  truth,"  an- 
swered Myerst  "Now,  look  here — I  said  nobody  knew 
as  much  of  this  affair  as  I  know,  and  that's  true  also. 


MYERST  EXPLAINS 


307 


And  here's  the  truth  of  what  I  know.  The  old  man  in 
that  room,  whom  you  know  as  Nicholas  Cardlestone,  is  in 
reality  Chamberlayne,  the  stockbroker,  of  Market  Mil- 
caster,  whose  name  was  so  freely  mentioned  when  your 
father  was  tried  there.    That's  another  fact!" 

"How,"  asked  Breton,  sternly,  "can  you  prove  it? 
How  do  you  know  it?" 

"Because,"  replied  My  erst,  with  a  cunning  grin,  "I 
helped  to  carry  out  his  mock  death  and  burial — I  was  a 
solicitor  in  those  days,  and  my  name  was — something 
else.  There  were  three  of  us  at  it:  Chamberlayne 's 
nephew;  a  doctor  of  no  reputation;  and  myself.  We 
carried  it  out  very  cleverly,  and  Chamberlayne  gave  us 
five  thousand  pounds  apiece  for  our  trouble.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  I  had  helped  him  and  been  well  paid 
for  my  help.  The  first  time  was  in  connection  with  the 
Cloudhampton  Hearth  and  Home  Mutual  Benefit  So- 
ciety affair — Aylmore,  or  Ainsworth,  was  as  innocent  as 
a  child  in  that! — Chamberlayne  was  the  man  at  the 
back.  But,  unfortunately,  Chamberlayne  didn't  profit 
— he  lost  all  he  got  by  it,  pretty  quick.  That  was  why 
be  transferred  his  abilities  to  Market  Milcaster." 

"You  can  prove  all  this,  I  suppose?"  remarked 
Spargo. 

"Every  word — every  letter!  But  about  the  Market 
Milcaster  affair:  Your  father,  Breton,  was  right  in 
what  he  said  about  Chamberlayne  having  all  the  money 
that  was  got  from  the  bank.  He  had — and  he  engi- 
neered that  mock  death  and  funeral  so  that  he  could 
disappear,  and  he  paid  us  who  helped  him  generously, 
as  I've  told  you.    The  thing  couldn't  have  been  better 


308     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


done.  "When  it  was  done,  the  nephew  disappeared ;  the 
doctor  disappeared;  Chamberlayne  disappeared.  I  had 
bad  luck — to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  struck  off  the  rolls 
for  a  technical  offence.  So  I  changed  my  name  and 
became  Mr.  Myerst,  and  eventually  what  I  am  now.  And 
it  was  not  until  three  years  ago  that  I  found  Chamber- 
layne. I  found  him  in  this  way:  After  I  became  sec- 
retary to  the  Safe  Deposit  Company.  I  took  chambers  in 
the  Temple,  above  Cardlestone's.  And  I  speedily  found 
out  who  he  was.  Instead  of  going  abroad,  the  old  fox — 
though  he  was  a  comparatively  young  'un,  then ! — had 
shaved  off  his  beard,  settled  down  in  the  Temple  and 
given  himself  up  to  his  two  hobbies,  collecting  curiosities 
and  stamps.  There  he'd  lived  quietly  all  these  years, 
and  nobody  had  ever  recognized  or  suspected  him.  In- 
deed, I  don't  see  how  they  could:  he  lived  such  a  quiet, 
secluded  life,  with  his  collections,  his  old  port,  and  his 
little  whims  and  fads.    But — I  knew  him ! ' ' 

"And  you  doubtless  profited  by  your  recognition," 
suggested  Breton. 

"I  certainly  did.  He  was  glad  to  pay  me  a  nice 
sum  every  quarter  to  hold  my  tongue,"  replied  My- 
erst, "and  I  was  glad  to  take  it  and,  naturally,  I  gained 
a  considerable  knowledge  of  him.  He  had  only  one 
friend — Mr.  Elphick,  in  there.  Now,  I'll  you  about 
him. ' ' 

"Only  if  you  are  going  to  speak  respectfully  of  him," 
said  Breton  sternly. 

"I've  no  reason  to  do  otherwise.  Elphick  is  the  man 
who  ought  to  have  married  your  mother.  When  things 
turned  out  as  they  did,  Elphick  took  you  and  brought 


MYERST  EXPLAINS 


309 


you  up  as  lie  has  done,  so  that  you  should  never  know 
of  your  father's  disgrace.  Elphick  never  knew  until 
last  night  that  Cardlestone  is  Charnberlayne.  Even  the 
biggest  scoundrels  have  friends — Elphick 's  very  fond 
of  Cardlestone.    He  " 

Spargo  turned  sharply  on  Myerst. 

"You  say  Elphick  didn't  know  until  last  night!"  he 
exclaimed.  "Why,  then,  this  running  away?  What 
were  they  running  from?" 

"I  have  no  more  notion  than  you  have,  Spargo,"  re- 
plied Myerst.  "I  tell  you  one  or  other  of  them  knows 
something  that  I  don't.  Elphick,  I  gather,  took  fright 
from  you,  and  went  to  Cardlestone — then  they  both  van- 
ished. It  may  be  that  Cardlestone  did  kill  Maitland — 
I  don't  know.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know  about  the 
actual  murder — for  I  do  know  a  good  deal  about  it, 
though,  as  I  say,  I  don't  know  who  killed  Maitland. 
Now,  first,  you  know  all  that  about  Maitland 's  having 
papers  and  valuables  and  gold  on  him?  Very  well — 
I've  got  all  that.  The  whole  lot  is  locked  up — safely — 
and  I 'm  willing  to  hand  it  over  to  you,  Breton,  when  we 
go  back  to  town,  and  the  necessary  proof  is  given — as  it 
will  be — that  you're  MM  band's  son." 

Myerst  paused  to  see  the  effect  of  this  announcement, 
and  laughed  when  h?  saw  the  blank  astonishment  which 
stole  over  his  hearers '  faces. 

"And  atill  more,"  he  continued,  "I've  got  all  the 
contents  of  that  leather  box  which  Maitland  deposited 
ttith  me— that's  safely  locked  up,  too,  and  at  your  dis- 
posal. I  took  possession  of  that  the  day  after  the  mur- 
der.   Then,  for  purposes  of  my  own,  I  went  to  Scotland 


310     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Yard,  as  Spargo  there  is  aware.  You  see,  I  was  playing 
a  game — and  it  required  some  ingenuity." 

"A  game!"  exclaimed  Breton.  ' ' Good  heavens — 
what  game?" 

"I  never  knew  until  I  had  possession  of  all  these 
things  that  Marbury  was  Maitland  of  Market  Milcaster," 
answered  My  erst.  '  '"When  I  did  know  then  I  began  to 
put  things  together  and  to  pursue  my  own  line,  inde- 
pendent of  everybody.  I  tell  you  I  had  all  Maitland 's 
papers  and  possessions,  by  that  time — except  one  thing. 
That  packet  of  Australian  stamps.  And — I  found  out 
that  those  stamps  were  in  the  hands  of — Cardlestone ! ' 9 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SIX 

THE  FINAL  TELEGRAM 

Myerst  paused,  to  take  a  pull  at  his  glass,  and  to  look 
at  the  two  amazed  listeners  with  a  smile  of  conscious 
triumph. 

"In  the  hands  of  Cardlestone, ' 9  he  repeated.  "Now, 
what  did  I  argue  from  that?  Why,  of  course,  that 
Maitland  had  been  to  Cardlestone 's  rooms  that  night. 
Wasn't  he  found  lying  dead  at  the  foot  of  Cardlestone 's 
stairs?  Aye — but  who  found  him?  Not  the  porter — 
not  the  police — not  you,  Master  Spargo,  with  all  your 
cleverness.  The  man  who  found  Maitland  lying  dead 
there  that  night  was — I!" 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Spargo,  who  had  been 
making  notes  of  what  Myerst  said,  suddenly  dropped  his 
pencil  and  thrusting  his  hands  in  his  pockets  sat  bolt 
upright  with  a  look  which  Breton,  who  was  watching 
him  seriously,  could  not  make  out.  It  was  the  look  of  a 
man  whose  ideas  and  conceptions  are  being  rudely  up- 
set. And  Myerst,  too,  saw  it  and  he  laughed,  more 
sneeringly  than  ever. 

"That's  one  for  you,  Spargo \"  he  said.  "That  sur- 
prises you — that  makes  you  think.  Now  what  do  you 
think? — if  one  may  ask." 

"I  think,"  said  Spargo,  "that  you  are  either  a  con- 
311 


312     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


summate  liar,  or  that  this  mystery  is  bigger  than  be- 
fore. " 

"I  can  lie  when  it's  necessary/'  retorted  Myerst. 
"  Just  now  it  isn't  necessary.  I'm  telling  you  the  plain 
truth :  there 's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn 't.  As  I 've  said 
before,  although  you  two  young  bullies  have  tied  me  up 
in  this  fashion,  you  can 't  do  anything  against  me.  I  Ve 
a  power  of  attorney  from  those  two  old  men  in  there,  and 
that's  enough  to  satisfy  anybody  as  to  my  possession  of 
their  cheques  and  securities.  I 've  the  whip  hand  of  you, 
my  sons,  in  all  ways.  And  that's  why  I'm  telling  you 
the  truth — to  amuse  myself  during  this  period  of  wait- 
ing.   The  plain  truth,  my  sons ! ' ' 

"In  pursuance  of  which,"  observed  Breton,  drily,  "I 
think  you  mentioned  that  you  were  the  first  person  to 
find  my  father  lying  dead?" 

"I  was.  That  is — as  far  as  I  can  gather.  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it.  As  I  said,  I  live  over  Cardlestone. 
That  night  I  came  home  very  late — it  was  well  past  one 
o'clock.  There  was  nobody  about — as  a  matter  of  fact, 
no  one  has  residential  chambers  in  that  building  but 
Cardlestone  and  myself.  I  found  the  body  of  a  man 
lying  in  the  entry.  I  struck  a  match  and  immediately 
recognized  my  visitor  of  the  afternoon — John  Marbury. 
Now,  although  I  was  so  late  in  going  home,  I  was  as  sober 
as  a  man  can  be,  and  I  think  pretty  quickly  at  all  times. 
I  thought  at  double  extra  speed  just  then.  And  the  first 
thing  I  did  was  to  strip  the  body  of  every  article  it  had 
on  it — money,  papers,  everything.  All  these  things  are 
safely  locked  up — they've  never  been  tracked.  Next 
day,  using  my  facilities  as  secretary  to  the  Safe  Deposit 


THE  FINAL  TELEGRAM 


313 


Company,  I  secured  the  things  in  that  box.  Then  I 
found  out  who  the  dead  man  really  was.  And  then  I 
deliberately  set  to  work  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the 
police  and  of  the  newspapers,  and  particularly  in  the 
eyes  of  young  Master  Spargo  there.  I  had  an  object." 
1 ' What?"  asked  Breton. 

"What!  Knowing  all  I  did,  I  firmly  believed  that 
Marbury,  or,  rather,  Maitland,  had  been  murdered  by 
either  Cardlestone  or  Elphick.  I  put  it  to  myself  in 
this  way,  and  my  opinion  was  strengthened  as  you, 
Spargo,  inserted  news  in  your  paper — Maitland,  finding 
himself  in  the  vicinity  of  Cardlestone  after  leaving  Ayl- 
more's  rooms  that  night,  turned  into  our  building,  per- 
haps just  to  see  where  Cardlestone  lived.  He  met  Car- 
dlestone accidentally,  or  he  perhaps  met  Cardlestone  and 
Elphick  together — they  recognized  each  other.  Mart- 
land  probably  threatened  to  expose  Cardlestone,  or, 
rather,  Chamberlayne — nobody,  of  course,  could  know 
what  happened,  but  my  theory  was  that  Chamberlayne 
killed  him.  There,  at  any  rate,  was  the  fact  that  Mait- 
land was  found  murdered  at  Chamberlayne 's  very  thres- 
hold. And,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  I  proved,  to  my 
own  positive  satisfaction,  by  getting  access  to  Cham- 
berlayne's  rooms  in  his  absence  that  Maitland  had  been 
there,  had  been  in  those  rooms.  For  I  found  there,  in 
Chamberlayne 's  desk,  the  rare  Australian  stamps  of 
which  Criedir  told  at  the  inquest.  That  was  proof  posi- 
tive." 

Spargo  looked  at  Breton.  They  knew  what  Myerst 
did  not  know — that  the  stamps  of  which  he  spoke  were 
lying  in  Spargo 's  breast  pocket,  where  they  had  lain 


314*     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


since  he  had  picked  them  up  from  the  litter  and  confu- 
sion of  Chamberlayne 's  floor. 

"Why,"  asked  Breton,  after  a  pause,  "why  did  you 
never  accuse  Cardlestone,  or  Chamberlayne,  of  the  mur- 
der?" 

"I  did!  I  have  accused  him  a  score  of  times — and 
Elphick,  too,"  replied  Myerst  with  emphasis.  "Not  at 
first,  mind  you — I  never  let  Chamberlayne  know  that  I 
ever  suspected  him  for  some  time.  I  had  my  own  game 
to  play.  But  at  last — not  so  many  days  ago — I  did. 
I  accused  them  both.  That's  how  I  got  the  whip  hand 
of  them.  They  began  to  be  afraid — by  that  time  El- 
phick had  got  to  know  all  about  Cardlestone 's  past  as 
Chamberlayne.  And  as  I  tell  you,  Elphick 's  fond  of 
Cardlestone.  It's  queer,  but  he  is.  He — wants  to  shield 
him." 

""What  did  they  say  when  you  accused  them?"  asked 
Breton.  " Let's  keep  to  that  point — never  mind  their 
feelings  for  one  another." 

"  Just  so,  but  that  feeling's  a  lot  more  to  do  with  this 
mystery  than  you  think,  my  young  friend, ' '  said  Myerst, 
"What  did  they  say,  you  ask?  "Why,  they  strenuously 
denied  it.  Cardlestone  swore  solemnly  to  me  that  he 
had  no  part  or  lot  in  the  murder  of  Maitland.  So  did 
Elphick.  But — they  know  something  about  the  murder. 
If  those  two  old  men  can't  tell  you  definitely  who  ac- 
tually struck  John  Maitland  down,  I'm  certain  that  they 
have  a  very  clear  idea  in  their  minds  as  to  who  really 
did!    They  " 

A  sudden  sharp  cry  from  the  inner  room  interrupted 


THE  FINAL  TELEGRAM 


315 


Myerst,  Breton  and  Spargo  started  to  their  feet  and 
made  for  the  door.  But  before  they  could  reach  it  El- 
phick  came  out,  white  and  shaking. 

"He's  gone!"  he  exclaimed  in  quavering  accents, 
"My  old  friend's  gone — he's  dead!  I  was — asleep.  I 
woke  suddenly  and  looked  at  him.    He  " 

Spargo  forced  the  old  man  into  a  chair  and  gave  him 
some  whisky ;  Breton  passed  quickly  into  the  inner  room ; 
only  to  come  back  shaking  his  head. 

"He's  dead,"  he  said.  "He  evidently  died  in  his 
sleep." 

"Then  his  secret's  gone  with  him,"  remarked  Myerst, 
calmly.  "And  now  we  shall  never  know  if  he  did  kill 
John  Maitland  or  if  he  didn't.    So  that's  done  with!" 

Old  Elphick  suddenly  sat  up  in  his  chair,  pushing 
Spargo  fiercely  away  from  his  side. 

"He  didn't  kill  John  Maitland!"  he  cried  angrily, 
attempting  to  shake  his  fist  at  Myerst.  "Whoever  says 
he  killed  Maitland  lies.  He  was  as  innocent  as  I  am. 
You've  tortured  and  tormented  him  to  his  death  with 
that  charge,  as  you're  torturing  me — among  you.  I  tell 
you  he'd  nothing  to  do  with  John  Maitland 's  death — 
nothing!" 

Myerst  laughed. 

"Who  had,  then?"  he  said. 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  commanded  Breton,  turning 
angrily  on  him.  He  sat  down  by  Elphick 's  side  and 
laid  his  hand  soothingly  on  the  old  man's  arm. 

"Guardian,"  he  said,  "why  don't  you  tell  what  you 
know?   Don't  be  afraid  of  that  fellow  there — he's  safe 


816     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

enough.  Tell  Spargo  and  me  what  you  know  of  the 
matter.  Remember,  nothing  can  hurt  Cardlestone,  or 
Chaniberlayne,  or  whoever  he  is  or  was,  now." 

Elphick  sat  for  a  moment  shaking  his  head.  He  al- 
lowed Spargo  to  give  him  another  drink;  he  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  at  the  two  young  men  with  something 
of  an  appeal. 

"I'm  badly  shaken/'  he  said.  "I've  suffered  much 
lately — I've  learnt  things  that  I  didn't  know.  Perhaps 
I  oaight  to  have  spoken  before,  but  I  was  afraid  for — for 
him.  He  was  a  good  friend,  Cardlestone,  whatever  else 
he  may  have  been — a  good  friend.  And — I  don't  know 
any  more  than  what  happened  that  night." 

"Tell  us  what  happened  that  night,"  said  Breton. 

"Well,  that  night  I  went  round,  as  I  often  did,  to 
play  piquet  with  Cardlestone.  That  was  about  ten 
o'clock.  About  eleven  Jane  Baylis  came  to  Cardlestone 's 
— she'd  been  to  my  rooms  to  find  me — wanted  to  see  me 
particularly — and  she'd  come  on  there,  knowing  where 
I  should  be.  Cardlestone  would  make  her  have  a  glass 
of  wine  and  a  biscuit;  she  sat  down  and  we  all  talked. 
Then,  about,  I  should  think,  a  quarter  to  twelve,  a  knock 
came  at  Cardlestone 's  door — his  outer  door  was  open, 
and  of  course  anybody  outside  could  see  lights  within. 
Cardlestone  went  to  the  door:  we  heard  a  man's  voice 
enquire  for  him  by  name;  then  the  voice  added  that 
Criedir,  the  stamp  dealer,  had  advised  him  to  call  on 
Mr.  Cardlestone  to  show  him  some  rare  Australian 
stamps,  and  that  seeing  a  light  under  his  door  he  had 
knocked.  Cardlestone  asked  him  in — he  came  in.  That 
was  the  man  we  saw  next  day  at  the  mortuary.  Upon 


THE  FINAL  TELEGRAM 


317 


my  honour,  we  didn't  know  him,  either  that  night  or 
next  day!" 

"What  happened  when  he  came  in?"  asked  Breton. 

"Cardlestone  asked  him  to  sit  down:  he  offered  and 
gave  him  a  drink.  The  man  said  Criedir  had  given  him 
Cardlestone 's  address,  and  that  he'd  been  with  a  friend 
at  some  rooms  in  Fountain  Court,  and  as  he  was  passing 
our  building  he'd  just  looked  to  make  sure  where  Cardie- 
stone  lived,  and  as  he'd  noticed  a  light  he'd  made  bold 
to  knock.  He  and  Cardlestone  began  to  examine  the 
stamps.  Jane  Baylis  said  good-night,  and  she  and  I  left 
Cardlestone  and  the  man  together." 

4 'No  one  had  recognized  him?"  said  Breton. 

"No  one!  Remember,  I  only  once  or  twice  saw  Mait- 
land  in  all  my  life.  The  others  certainly  did  not  recog- 
nize him.  At  least,  I  never  knew  tbat  they  did — if  they 
did." 

"Tell  us,"  said  Spargo,  joining  in  for  the  first  time, 
4  *  tell  us  what  you  and  Miss  Baylis  did?" 

"At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Jane  Baylis  suddenly  said 
she'd  forgotten  something  in  Cardlestone 's  lobby.  As 
she  was  going  out  in  to  Fleet  Street,  and  I  was  going 
down  Middle  Temple  Lane  to  turn  off  to  my  own  rooms 
we  said  good-night.  She  went  back  upstairs.  And  I 
went  home.  And  upon  my  soul  and  honour  that 's  all  I 
know!" 

Spargo  suddenly  leapt  to  his  feet.  He  snatched  at  his 
cap — a  sodden  and  bedraggled  headgear  which  he  had 
thrown  down  when  they  entered  the  cottage. 

"That's  enough!"  he  almost  shouted.  "I've  got  it — 
at  last!   Breton — where 's  the  nearest  telegraph  office? 


318     THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


Hawes?  Straight  down  this  valley?  Then,  here's  for 
it !  Look  after  things  till  I 'm  back,  or,  when  the  police 
come,  join  me  there.  I  shall  catch  the  first  train  to  town, 
anyhow,  after  wiring.' 9 

"But — what  are  you  after,  Spargo?"  exclaimed 
Breton.    1 '  Stop !    What  on  earth  ' ' 

But  Spargo  had  closed  the  door  and  was  running  for 
all  he  was  worth  down  the  valley.  Three  quarters  of 
an  hour  later  he  startled  a  quiet  and  peaceful  telegra- 
phist by  darting,  breathless  and  dirty,  into  a  sleepy 
country  post  office,  snatching  a  telegraph  form  and  scrib- 
bling down  a  message  in  shaky  handwriting: — 

Rathbury,  New  Scotland  Yard,  London. 
Arrest  Jane  Baylis  at  once  for  murder  of  John  Mait- 
land.    Coming  straight  to  town  with  full  evidence. 

Frank  Spargo. 

Then  Spargo  dropped  on  the  office  bench,  and  while  the 
wondering  operator  set  the  wires  ticking,  strove  to  get 
his  breath,  utterly  spent  in  his  mad  race  across  the 
heather.  And  when  it  was  got  he  set  out  again — to  find 
the  station. 

Some  days  later,  Spargo,  having  seen  Stephen  Ayl- 
more  walk  out  of  the  Bow  Street  dock,  cleared  of  the 
charge  against  him,  and  in  a  fair  way  of  being  cleared 
of  the  affair  of  twenty  years  before,  found  himself  in  a 
very  quiet  corner  of  the  Court  holding  the  hand  of  Jessie 
Aylmore,  who,  he  discovered,  was  saying  things  to  him 


THE  PINAL  TELEGRAM  319 


which  he  scarcely  comprehended.  There  was  nobody 
near  them  and  the  girl  spoke  freely  and  warmly. 

"But  you  will  come — you  will  come  today — and  be 
properly  thanked,"  she  said.    "You  will — won't  you?" 

Spargo  allowed  himself  to  retain  possession  of  the 
hand.  Also  he  took  a  straight  look  into  Jessie  Ayl- 
more 's  eyes. 

"I  don't  want  thanks/'  he  said.  "It  was  all  a  lot  of 
luck.  And  if  I  come — today — it  will  be  to  see — just 
you!" 

Jessie  Aylmore  looked  down  at  the  two  hands. 
"I  think,"  she  whispered,  "I  think  that  is  what  I 
really  meant!" 


THE  END 


' 1  The  Books  You  Like  to  Read 
at  the  Price  You  Like  to  Pay" 


There  Are  Two  Sides 
to  Everything — 

— including  the  wrapper  which  covers 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book.  When 
you  feel  in  the  mood  for  a  good  ro- 
mance, refer  to  the  carefully  selected  list 
of  modern  fiction  comprising  most  of 
the  successes  by  prominent  writers  of 
the  day  which  is  printed  on  the  back  of 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book  wrapper. 

You  will  find  more  than  five  hundred 
titles  to  choose  from — books  for  every 
mood  and  every  taste  and  every  pocket- 
book. 

Don't  forget  the  other  side,  but  in  case 
the  wrapper  is  lost,  write  to  the  publishers 
for  a  complete  catalog. 


There  is  a  Grosset  &  Dunlap  Book 
for  every  mood  and  for  every  taste 


